Such a Small Thing
by FatesMistake
Summary: Harry spends the summer following Sixth Year with Hermione and her parents in the Muggle World. When he discovers a man at a nearby park that remarkably resembles Severus Snape, he becomes obsessed with knowing who he is. When it actually is Snape, and they start behaving amiably after a rough start, he finds he doesn't mind. It is, after all, Such a Small Thing. AU, 7th Year, SSHP
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For the purposes of this story, Snape and Hermione live near enough to London for it to be a day trip. Also, the sun rises at approximately 6 in the morning all year round. Don't ask why, it just does. Also, I realize the chances of Hermione living near Snape are slim, but since we don't know where her parent's house is, nor where Spinner's End is located, it** _ **is**_ **possible that they could live no more than ten miles from each other and never know it.**

Harry drew in a deep breath as he prepared to face his friends. It was the end of his Sixth Year, their finals were done, Voldemort had been dead since Christmas, and Harry had a secret to share. He'd known for a while, but with the stigmas against it in the Muggle World, and without knowing how the Wizarding World felt, he had yet to come clean with his friends. This was, of course, in fear of what they would think. He'd promised himself he would tell them before they left for the summer, though, and with their departure from the school only a week away, that time had come.

Sucking in another deep breath, Harry walked out onto the grounds of Hogwarts, blinking in the hot June sun. He spotted his friends where he'd asked them to meet him following lunch, under their usual tree by the lake. Walking over, he could feel his heart start to race in his chest, and he worked at keeping his breathing even. They all grinned and waved, turning from the game of Gobstones they'd been engaged in or watching. Harry forced a smile as he waved back, jogging over. He slowed when the shade of the tree washed over him.

"Hey, guys," He said. "I didn't realize it was so hot out today."

"I know!" Ginny exclaimed. "I'm just dying in this sweltering heat!" She collapsed dramatically into her boyfriend's arms, ruining his shot and getting them both soaked by the white gobstone in the middle. She giggled as Dean scowled down at her.

Harry chuckled as Seamus, Neville, and Ron all scooped up their own gobstones, the magical circle dissolving in the grass.

"Good thing you weren't playing for keeps."

Dean shooed Ginny out of his lap. "No kidding," He muttered sourly, picking up his own rounded marbles as Ginny cast a drying spell on them both.

"Would've been good for us," Ron said, wrapping an arm around Neville's shoulders.

Harry chuckled again as Hermione looked up from the book she'd been reading against the tree.

"So, Harry, what'd you want to talk about? I'm assuming there's a reason you wanted us to amass out here."

Harry's chuckles dissolved as suddenly as the gobstones circle had. He cleared his throat.

"Um, yeah, there is. You see…and I don't want anybody to freak out, but…I promised myself I'd tell you all. I'm, um, I'm gay..." He said the last part so quietly that most of his friends stared at him bewildered.

"What?"

"I didn't catch that."

"Did you hear what he said?"

"Speak up, Harry."

"He said he's _gay_ ," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Harry winced, prepared for an uproar that never came.

" _Oh_! Is that all?" Neville asked.

Seamus chuckled. "I thought it was something important."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Harry, I thought you were dying or something. Don't be so serious next time."

Harry looked to Hermione in confusion, and she smiled a little patronizingly.

"Most of us already figured," She told him. "And it doesn't really matter. It's accepted in the Wizarding World."

"Well, more accepted than in the Muggle World, anyway," Ginny pointed out, laying across her boyfriend's lap. "There are still idiots who think it's weird."

Harry grinned. "Well, now I just feel foolish for worrying so long about how you guys would react."

Suddenly, Ron stood up and started to walk away from the group silently. Harry looked at his friends, who got up as well. Together, they all followed the red head.

"Ron, what's up?" Harry said, jogging after his best friend. "If you're upset I didn't tell you sooner-"

Harry reached out and touched his friend's shoulder, only to have the other wizard pull violently away. He stopped, startled, as Ron turned to face him and the rest of their friends.

"Don't touch me, faggot," The other boy said firmly.

Harry scoffed disbelievingly. "Ron, what're you-"

"Don't ever touch me again. Not until you come to your senses and see that your lifestyle is _wrong_. It's just…wrong." Harry watched as his best friend sneered with disgust before turning and storming away.

The rest of his friends came up to him as what just happened registered fully. He turned into Hermione's arms when she touched his shoulder, and let her hold him as he recovered from the shock of what had just happened. He had expected something like this from one or more of his friends, but _never_ had he thought he'd get it from his _best_ friend. The Boy Who Lived continued to cling to Hermione like a lifeline as his other friends surrounded him.

Ginny spoke first. "I'm sorry, Harry. I had no idea Ron was harboring such idiocy. He never said anything when the twins came out to Mum and Dad last year."

"I don't understand, though, he's never acted this way towards me," Neville said in confusion.

Harry looked up and shared in the group's stare of bewilderment. The other boy blushed under their scrutiny.

"I thought you guys knew…" He mumbled uncertainly.

"No idea," Seamus said simply.

"Explains a lot, though," Dean added. They all turned their attention back to Harry, who pulled away from Hermione and tried to fake a smile. He was pretty sure he missed, as their sympathy was undampened.

"Gin's right, though, Harry; Ron's an idiot if he doesn't want to be your friend anymore," Neville said firmly. "Don't worry about it, though. _We_ all still love you."

Harry nodded sadly and let himself be led back to their tree by the lake. He sat in the shade of the oak with his friends, his head on Hermione's shoulder, but he didn't participate when they turned to brighter topics. A storm cloud had settled over his head, and would remain for quite a while. For whatever reason, Ron had declared their friendship over, all because of something that now seemed so small.

 **A/N: Please bear with me. I know the first few chapters are slow, but it's all set up. I promise, it gets better. I didn't like the first few chapters either.**


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Harry planned to try and talk some sense into his friend. He never got the chance. At breakfast, he discovered the other boy's final betrayal. He hadn't just abandoned their friendship because of a piddling issue like Harry's sexuality; he had sold it out, like so much juicy gossip, to the eager eyes of all Wizarding Britain. The morning's front page was smeared with the scandalous news of Harry's sexuality, noting a 'reliable source' as the fountain from which they had drawn their water.

After reading the article, Harry felt the cloying fog of depression begin to seep into his bones. He couldn't even rally enough ire to demand an explanation. He need not have, as Seamus and Dean did it for him. He watched morosely as they stormed down to where the redhead sat and demanded loudly to know how he could do such a thing. Ron, stubborn git that he was, refused to answer. Harry watched with tired fascination as the boy tried to simply walk away. If McGonagall hadn't stepped in, he'd been certain the confrontation would have ended in a brawl. Instead, Dean and Seamus returned to console him while McGonagall dragged Ron off to Merlin-knew-where.

 _-Break-_

Harry, as it turned out, was inconsolable. He spent the last week of term buried deep in the folds of depression, emerging only long enough to attend his post-finals classes and meals before returning to the dark mood of self-pity. His friends tried their best to reach him, but every attempt failed. Eventually, a silent agreement passed amongst them to let him work his own way out of his bleak and grey attitude. Only Hermione remained steadfastly by his side. That is why he accepted, when she offered up her parent's guest room for the summer. With Voldemort gone he needed somewhere to stay, no longer welcome at his relatives' house. And, of course, the Weasley's were no longer an option.

When Harry stepped off the train at King's Cross, the clouds that had gathered over his head had begun to rumble with the threat of more tears as soon as he spotted the redheaded Weasley clan a little further down the platform. He turned quietly away as he waited for Hermione to finish saying her goodbyes to Ginny and a couple other friends from other Houses. He didn't think he'd ever smile again…until he did.

"Hiya, Harry!"

Harry turned back to see Fred and George grinning just behind him.

"Hermione-"

"Told us-"

"What happened."

"Sorry-"

"Our little brother-"

"Is such a-"

"Twat." They finished simultaneously.

Harry shrugged. "It's his prerogative, I guess."

"Not true," Fred said, wrapping an arm around Harry's slumped shoulders. "He's got a right to be an idiot, sure, but he's got no right to go spreading your private life around the papers like he did."

"But don't you worry, Harry," George said, wrapping his arm around Harry's shoulders from the other side. "We'll teach him better this summer. Mum's agreed, under the circumstances, to let us use him as a tester for our products."

"I'd rather you didn't," Harry said, ducking under their arms.

"What?" They asked together, staring at him with identical looks of disbelief.

"Don't tell us-"

"You're buying into-"

"That idiot's-"

"Lunacy, Harry."

Harry couldn't help but offer up a small smile. "I'm not," He assured them. "Ron's free to think whatever he wants, but I don't believe there's anything wrong with being gay. I just…I don't want him to be made to suffer just because he's too ignorant to look past his own nose. It won't change how he feels, and it might make him feel like retaliating on top of everything else. It's best to just let sleeping dragons lie."

"We'll take that under advisement, Harry."

"But we don't guarantee he won't suffer this summer."

"We're gay, too; it isn't just you he's mistreated."

"So we have to at least pay him back for lying about accepting us."

"And for depriving us of our favorite little brother for an entire summer."

"Well, obviously for that."

Harry chuckled. "Obviously." He pulled the older wizards into a hug. "Thanks, you guys. And I guess it wouldn't hurt him to get a little payback. Call it character building."

The boys grinned wider as they pulled away.

"That's just-"

"What Mum said."

Harry started when both twins suddenly jumped without warning. They both pulled out their wands and Harry saw they were vibrating violently.

"We should really-"

"Figure out-"

"How to-"

"Dial that down."

They both looked up at him after flicking their wands, ending the vibrations. They still wore matching grins.

"We'll catch you later, Harry."

"We came down on our lunch break."

"Just to make sure you knew you're still a Weasley."

"Which you are."

"But we have to-"

"Get back."

"We left-"

"Lee alone, and-"

"He doesn't really-"

"Know how to handle-"

"The customers."

Harry chuckled again, his depressive fog lifting a little. "Thanks, guys. I'll see you when Hermione's parents take us to shop for our school stuff."

"Give Hermione our best." They said simultaneously. With a 'pop' of displaced air that was almost drowned in the bustle of the platform, the twins disappeared.

Harry sat down on his trunk beside Hedwig in her cage with a small smile. The twins were always good for lifting whatever sour mood someone was in. He didn't notice until it was too late that the rest of the Weasley's on the platform had joined him.

"Harry, dear."

The Wizarding Savior looked up, his smile slipping into a scowl as he saw Ron standing with his mum and sister. The other boy crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. Harry turned instead to the matronly witch and forced himself to smile.

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley."

"You know, dear, you're still more than welcome to come spend the summer with us. We'd be happy to have you, and you could stay in Charlie's old bedroom," Molly Weasley invited warmly.

Harry shook his head. "No, thanks, Mrs. Weasley. You guys are like family, but, I…" He trailed off uncertainly. He didn't know how to put into words why he couldn't bring himself to be around his treacherous ex-best friend. The sight of Hermione walking towards them made him realize he didn't have to. "I already told Hermione's mum and dad that I'd be staying with them. It would be rude not to, since they went to the trouble of setting up their guest room and all."

Mrs. Weasley nodded, smiling sympathetically. Harry thought she might understand the real reason why he didn't want to join them. She looked at Hermione, who'd dragged her trunk up to sit beside Harry's. Crookshanks, who had been following her since she got off the train, settled at her feet.

"You two have a fun summer, now. And do try to stay out of trouble."

Harry chuckled warmly as she hugged him, and then Hermione. "No promises, Mrs. Weasley. Trouble seems to find me no matter where I go."

"I'll keep him out of trouble," Hermione volunteered, smiling.

Molly grinned and nodded. "I'm sure you will, Hermione." She rounded on her son. "You, Ronald, don't _know_ how much trouble you're in for this summer. Let's go."

Harry snickered as Ron exclaimed in pain the second his ear was pinched between two of his mum's fingers. The pair walked off down the platform, Ron frog hopping to try and keep up with his ear. Ginny grinned and waved at Harry and Hermione before jogging after her mum and brother. Harry turned to his real best friend, who smiled softly and rubbed his shoulder.

"Feel better?"

Harry nodded, smiling. "Yeah."

"Good, let's go find my mum and dad. They're probably waiting on the Muggle platform, since they can't get past the barrier."

Harry stood up and picked up Hedwig and one side of his trunk, dragging it after him as he followed Hermione towards the partition wall. He really did feel better, knowing that the rest of the Weasley's still wanted him around. A good chuckle seemed such a small thing, but it had somehow brightened his world.

It didn't make him forget about Ron's disloyalty, but it _did_ make him feel better. Not much, but enough that he could muster a genuine smile, shy though it was, when they nearly ran into the Granger's on the other side of the column between platforms 9 and 10. Hermione immediately threw herself at her parents, wrapping them both in a giant hug which was immediately returned. Harry exclaimed lightly, barely setting Hedwig's cage down, when Hermione's mum reached for him and drew him into the hug as well.

"Oh, we're so happy to have you spend the summer with us," Mrs. Granger exclaimed.

"If only so our little Rabbit won't be so alone this summer," Mr. Granger said, pulling away to pinch Hermione's cheek.

" _Dad_ ," Hermione whined, playfully batting his hand away. She stepped back as her mum finally relinquished her hold on them both, and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Mum, Dad, I would like you to officially meet my very best friend, Harry Potter."

"It is our pleasure, Mister Potter," Hermione's mum insisted.

Harry blushed. "Just Harry, is fine."

"Well, Just Harry," Mr. Granger chuckled. "I hope you know that Hermione's told us all about you and your adventures."

Harry ducked his head bashfully. "She has?"

"She has," Mrs. Granger confirmed. "And we're so happy she has you to rely on, through thin and thick."

"Even if 'thick' is a little too thick for my liking," Mr. Granger grumbled amiably. "You kids ready to go? Your mum and I took the day off, so we thought we'd do lunch on our way back to the house."

Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "We're hardly kids anymore, Dad. I'm legally an adult in the Wizarding World, and Harry will be just next month."

"You'll always be my little Rabbit," Mr. Granger cooed. He chuckled when his wife smacked his arm.

Harry grinned. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I can't tell you how much it means to me that you've invited me into your home on Hermione's word alone."

"Oh, not at all, Harry, dear. It's our pleasure to have you. We've always wanted to meet Hermione's wizard friends, and if Hermione says you're the best, we believe her," Mrs. Granger said. "Of course, you can't spend the whole summer calling us 'Mister' and 'Missus'. You'll call me Violet, and this is Jack."

"And he's 'Just Harry', and she's Hermione," Jack Granger said delightedly. "Let's go, I'm hungry."

Harry chuckled with Hermione and her parents as they set about the task of putting their trunks onto trolleys. Crookshanks leapt up onto Harry's trunk beside Hedwig's cage and curled up to sleep as they moved towards the exit, wheeling their trunk along in front of them. Hermione's mum, Violet, giggled at the sight.

"I suppose we know we don't have to worry about those two this summer," She commented lightly as they walked out into the gilded sunlight and moved towards the car park.

Harry smiled and scratched the orange-ish cat behind the ears. It had always driven Ron nuts, whenever Crookshanks had come to visit Hedwig in the dorm, sometimes spending the night at Harry's feet. Neither of them could ever figure out how the cat had gotten not one, but two, doors open for the visit. This reminder of Ronald Weasley, traitor, left Harry feeling bereft. He forced himself to smile when Hermione's parents helped him heft his things into the boot of their SUV, but he no longer felt like smiling for real. The ride to lunch was filled with Hermione chattering about how the year had gone, and how she felt she'd done on the finals. Harry sat quietly beside her, staring out the window as his depression slowly creeped back in on him. At lunch, he made himself join in on the conversation, but he got a sense that the Granger's knew he wasn't fully invested. For their part, they directed most of their questions at their daughter, and left Harry to eat his food in solemn silence. Harry suspected Hermione had told them why neither of them were spending the summer with the Weasley's this year, as the three of them did their best to avoid any topics involving a certain redhead. The ride to the Granger home was much quieter than the ride to lunch had been. Hermione had noticed Harry's return to unhappiness, and spent the ride with his hand held in both of hers in her lap. Harry managed a grateful smile before he turned back to watching out the window for the long-ish drive.


	3. Chapter 3

They arrived at the house adventure free, and Violet Granger immediately set about the task of getting Harry settled in the guest room, making her husband carry Harry's trunk upstairs while Harry followed behind with Hedwig. After Harry's things and owl were settled in the room, she showed Harry around the house. After that, Hermione dragged him back upstairs to her room and they settled into studying for their summer essays. Harry actually found that concentrating on his schoolwork was easier without Ron's constant sighs of boredom and frustration. It didn't make the schoolwork any easier, but it did get it done faster. By the time Hermione's mum came and got them for dinner, he'd finished two of his six essays. Hermione had finished three, but she insisted they were only rough drafts.

That night, Harry enjoyed watching Hermione interact with her parents. Her father seemed to adore her, and was indulgent to the point of over-indulgence. Her mother held nothing but love for her husband and daughter, and while sterner than her husband, was still mostly indulgent of her only child. Harry thought it helped that Hermione never asked for much, but he couldn't help wondering if they wouldn't give her the sun, should she one day decide she needed it. Her parents explained, excessively apologetic, that they worked most days at their dentistry office, only taking Sundays off. Hermione demurred before Harry could think of something to say, explaining to her parents that Harry was more than used to caring for himself over the summers, and they'd make do without them.

The next day, Harry awoke not long after sunrise when Hedwig fluttered in from her nightly hunting. The clock on his bedside table proclaimed the hour as shortly before six. He spent several minutes petting his beloved familiar while she cleaned her feathers. When he heard movement downstairs, he made the decision to dress and go down himself. He threw on his hand-me-downs from Dudley and left his room as Hedwig settled in her cage to sleep for the day. Noting that Hermione's bedroom door was still shut, he slipped silently past and made his way quietly down the stairs. He found the Grangers in the kitchen, Violet cooking a light breakfast at the stove while Jack enjoyed a cup of coffee at the table, reading, of all things, the _Daily Prophet_. Harry groaned upon seeing the Wizarding newspaper. No wonder there hadn't been any warning about funny business with their daughter, they already knew he wasn't interested. They both looked up and smiled on seeing him.

"Ah, Harry, we're sorry if we woke you," Jack said warmly, folding his paper carefully.

Harry shook his head. "No, you didn't. I'm just generally an early riser."

"Well, that's admirable," Violet said, moving from the stove to set a plate in front of her husband. "This one's a bear to wake in the mornings."

Harry chuckled when Jack grinned. He had trouble imagining the man was ever anything but good-natured, but he didn't say so. The Gryffindor sat down at the small round table, twiddling his thumbs uncomfortably.

"Can I make you something to eat, dear?" Violet asked, moving back to the stove. "I've still got everything out, and I dare say you look as though you could use it."

Harry chuckled again, vaguely reminded of Mrs. Weasley's same opinion of his slim state. "No thank you, Mrs. Granger, that's kind of you, but I'm not really hungry."

The woman turned with her own plate in hand. "Are you sure I can't get you anything?"

Harry made to demur again, but the smell wafting from Jack's side of the table made him pause. "If it's not too much trouble…could I have some coffee?"

Violet smiled as if she knew a secret. "Ah, you're of that sort." She set her plate down and moved back to the cupboards, pulling down a white mug that sported a cartoon cat. "It's no trouble at all. Cream and sugar?"

"Neither, thank you," Harry said automatically.

Violet's smile widened. " _Oh_ , so you're _that_ sort." She brought the steaming mug over and set it in front Harry before sitting down to her breakfast. "You and my husband would get along famously, I'd bet."

Harry smiled when Jack choked on his own coffee and a chuckle. He lowered his eyes to his coffee cup, systematically twisting it in his hands as he concentrated on a cooling spell. He and Hermione had been working on their wandless magic since Spring Break, when they'd been left to their own devices within the castle. She'd thought it safer than attempting to gain their animagus forms. He was still working on controlling the power behind his spells, though. So far, it varied from really weak to dangerously strong, like accidental magic.

"Do you have any plans for today?" Violet asked idly.

Harry shrugged. "Knowing Hermione, probably homework. And if we finish that, more studying." He joked.

Violet smiled. "Don't let her bully you, now."

"I would never, Mum."

Harry started at the cross tone, and accidentally turned his coffee to ice. He blushed violently when Violet's eyebrows rose and Jack's fork paused halfway to his mouth. Hermione walked fully into the kitchen and grabbed the mug from Harry's hands.

"I told you to be careful, Harry. You're still having trouble controlling it," Hermione admonished, taking the cup to the sink and dumping the block of coffee into the basin to melt.

Harry's blush deepened as he looked up ashamedly at the Grangers. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-I'm sorry."

Jack frowned. "For what?"

"The coffee," Harry mumbled, turning his eyes away.

"Don't be silly, Harry, it's just coffee. I actually found that quite impressive," Violet said, chuckling. "The last time Hermione did that she was still just a turnip in her high chair, and she froze the whole table."

" _Mum_ ," Hermione whined, pulling down a new mug from the cupboard. She filled the new one and Harry's with coffee and brought them to the table. Harry's unmistakably cooler mug had the benefit of cooling his coffee down enough to drink.

"Don't you 'mum' me, Hermione, you had quite a bit of accidental magic until you went to Hogwarts. I'm allowed to think it's impressive that Harry's is so much more focused than yours," Violet said primly.

Hermione rolled her eyes as her dad chimed in. "It was pretty _cool_."

There was a groan of beleaguered amusement from the rest of the table as Jack chuckled at his own wit. Hermione turned to Harry, and Harry smiled, sipping at his new coffee.

"Dad's full of bad jokes," She said. "I'm just glad you'll be here with me this summer, so I won't have to suffer alone."

Harry chuckled. "In his defense, it was pretty funny."

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Maybe it's a guy thing. Anyway, Harry didn't actually perform accidental magic. We've been working together on our wandless spells. See?" She held out her hand and the vase in the middle of the table levitated nearly an inch off of the wood before settling back down, slightly askew of where it had been. Hermione's parents clapped lightly. "Harry's better at it, though he's still having trouble controlling how much power is behind his spells. I can still only manage the most basic charms, and only just barely."

"Well, I think you're both amazing," Violet said, taking her plate to the sink and rinsing it.

Jack got up as well, finishing off his coffee as he carried his own finished breakfast to the sink. He walked back over and placed a light kiss on Hermione's head.

"Your mum's right, Hermione," He agreed. "You're both incredible. We've got to go to work now, so you two behave. No adventures while we're gone."

Hermione giggled. "No promises, Dad. Have fun at work. Stay away from that laughing gas."

Jack chuckled. "Not a chance, Rabbit." He walked out of the kitchen, leaving Violet alone with the two teenagers.

"There's food in the fridge," Violet said, kissing Hermione's head the same as her husband had done. "You know all of the emergency numbers by now."

"We know, Mum, we'll be fine," Hermione reassured her mother. "I love you. Keep Dad out of trouble."

Violet giggled. "If only I could, dear. I love you, too." Harry blushed when the woman leaned over and kissed his head as well. "You two have fun. Don't stay up in your room studying all day."

Hermione smiled innocently as her mother left. She waited until they heard the front door close before slumping in her chair. Harry grinned.

"Your parents are brilliant," He murmured into his cup.

Hermione grinned. "Aren't they? They've been so understanding about me being a witch. So, what do _you_ want to do today? We have a telly, and most any book you can think of. We could practice our wandless magic, if you wanted. I know I'd like to at least try to finish some of my summer essays."

Harry shrugged. "I thought I'd go for a walk. We passed a park not far from here, and it looked interesting."

Hermione gaped. "Not far? Harry, that park is two miles away!"

Harry shrugged again. "S'just an idea. We don't have to."

"No, it's alright. You go ahead if you want, as long as you promise you won't get lost. We can work on our homework later." Hermione said. She got up and moved to the stove. "Hungry? I can cook…um…toast."

Harry chuckled. "You're better at Potions than anybody, though. Well, except Snape."

"I know," Hermione said, turning to face him. "It's the weirdest thing, isn't it? In a kitchen I can burn water, but Potions is easier for me than most of our other subjects."

Harry couldn't help but smile as he stood up to refresh his coffee. "Toast sounds great."


	4. Chapter 4

After Harry enjoyed a small breakfast of slightly burnt toast and jam, he went upstairs and put on his shoes. Hermione emerged from her room, dressed herself now, and announced that she was joining him. Harry laughed before he realized she was serious.

"Hermione, you were aghast when you told me how far the park is, are you sure you want to walk with me?" He looked her over. "Do you even have the right shoes?"

Hermione looked down at her attire. "Is this not right?"

Harry chuckled. She was wearing her school flats and a skirt. He shook his head, and turned her back towards her room, leading her with hands firmly set on her shoulders. She walked, with slumped shoulders, towards her closet. Harry stopped her in front of the set of doors and pulled them open to reveal her general Muggle wardrobe. He shifted some of the clothes on their hangers.

"Hermione, a two mile walk, plus whatever we do at the park-"

"I thought I'd read."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course. Anyway, you have to wear trousers, at the least. And proper tennis shoes."

Hermione brightened and pushed past him to dig in the bottom of her closet. She came up with a pair of sneakers that looked as if they'd never touched her feet. They were pristinely white with vibrant blue laces. She grinned, holding them out as if she were presenting an award.

"Like these!"

Harry smiled. "They'll work. Though, you'll want to wear thick socks if they aren't broken in, to prevent blisters. And you should probably change your shirt to something you can really move in."

Hermione's face fell as she turned to her closet. "All I have are button-ups. They're casual, mostly, but…"

Harry reached into the closet and withdrew a pair of jeans and a powder blue button-down that would hang off of her curves nicely. He held them out and she looked at him dubiously. Harry rolled his eyes again in exasperation.

"You'll look great, and the shirt matches your shoes," He assured her.

Hermione set her shoes down on the reading chair near her dresser and took the clothes, looking the shirt over. "I don't think I've ever worn this one. I rarely wear blue."

Harry shrugged. "Put it on. If you don't like it, you can pick something else. Just make sure it's comfortable."

Hermione nodded. "Okay, Harry. I'll be out in a minute."

Harry leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Okay, Hermione."

He walked out of the room as Hermione set the clothes out on her large, rumpled bed. The door shut behind him, and he leaned against the wall across from the closed door. It was so easy to think of Ron, when he and Hermione were bonding like this. If they'd had this crisis of wardrobe with the redhead around, Ron would have been pushing her to wear anything, as long as it got them out the quickest. Harry felt conflicted about this knowledge. Part of him was glad to be able to befriend Hermione on this level, but a part of him missed Ron's cloying 'must-go' attitude. After so many years of dealing with it, it was like his life had a groove missing. Approximately a third, in fact.

Harry looked up when Hermione's bedroom door opened. She stepped out apprehensively and twirled. Harry grinned.

"You look great," He told her. She smiled shyly. "I'm glad you went with the blue, it brings out the specks of gold in your eyes."

Hermione blushed. "Thanks, Harry. You really have impeccable taste. Why didn't I ever notice that about you?"

Harry shrugged and linked their arms as he led his friend toward the stairs. "A certain someone always got in the way, I suppose," He said. "He would never have given us time to properly address your, well…dress. Anyway, the only reason I know blue looks good on you is because of that dress you wore to the Yule Ball."

"Oh, that," Hermione giggled. "My mum picked that out. I tried on a half-dozen dresses before she picked that one."

Harry grinned, though he no longer felt like doing so. "Well, then it's your mother who really has the impeccable taste."

"You'll see it yourself soon," Hermione warned. "I saw the way she eyed your outfit this morning. My mother loves to shop, and I suspect she'll want to take you shopping tomorrow, when they're off work."

Harry frowned. "Hermione, that's not- I wouldn't feel comfortable…"

"Don't do that, Harry," Hermione told him primly. She took a key off the hook in the front hall and locked the door behind them when they stepped out into the overcast sunlight. "You have no choice. It would be rude not to accept, if Mum _does_ decide to take you shopping. It's not like it's charity or anything, it's just what my mum does. The last friend I brought home was in grade school, before I got my Hogwarts letter, and Mum took us out for ice cream once. We wound up both getting two new outfits, because Mum saw them in the window at one of the stores we passed. Mum _loves_ to play dress-up, and I imagine you'll be her new favorite doll."

"I really can't refuse?" Harry asked uncertainly.

Hermione shook her head as they turned the corner and started the long walk to the park. "You really can't. I suppose it isn't your fault, having not gotten much from your relatives, but when someone offers something like that, it's rude not to accept. There are exceptions, as there are to every rule, but generally it's best just to say thank you. Especially with my parents, who love to give freely. It's just their way of being kind. They have so much, it gives them a sense of accomplishment to give it away to people they think deserve it."

Harry shook his head in confusion. "I have so much to learn about social circles."

"Well, then perhaps its best that Ron isn't here, because he has no idea how to act around anyone of standing. _Malfoy_ would be of more use than that redheaded twat," Hermione spat angrily.

Harry nodded with a sigh. "I guess that's true. Doesn't make me feel his absence any less, though. He always made everything so simple. Without him, the world is so…so _complicated_ , and _grey_."

Hermione seemed to relax her poised shoulders as Harry slumped into a proper sulk.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought him up," She murmured apologetically.

"No, it's okay, Hermione," Harry demurred gently. "He was your friend, too, and you're understandably angry with him. And you _are_ right; he doesn't know anything about how to behave around people outside of his family. Heck, even the twins think he's an embarrassment, and they _love_ standing out. This thing about not liking homosexuals is just the newest in a long line of things that makes him out to be unfit for socializing. And, though it's killing me, unfit to be my friend."

"That's good, Harry."

The Wizarding Savior looked at his friend uncertainly.

"You're coming to accept that this isn't your fault," Hermione explained. "Ron's an idiot to think he's anything without your friendship. This isn't the first time he's abandoned you, but, and you might hate me for saying so, I really hope it'll be the last. He doesn't deserve your kindness, or your forgiveness."

Harry scowled. "Hermione, that's not fair! Just because he's being stupid now doesn't mean he won't come around eventually."

"It's not a matter of whether or not he'll come around, Harry," Hermione argued. "He's a bad friend, even if he does accept who you are and everything that comes with it. Practically every year since we met him he's been bad news! He thinks he's above us, just because he was raised in the Wizarding World, and he treats our friendship like it's disposable!"

Harry scowled and didn't answer. He refused to believe there was no hope for his friendship with Ron. He couldn't change who he was, or how he felt about other men, but that didn't mean Ron couldn't come around eventually. They'd been friends for so long, in spite of the hiccups along the way, that it didn't make sense to leave Ron behind him. They walked the rest of the way to the park in silence. When they reached the padded equipment area, Hermione sat heavily on a nearby bench.

"I can't believe we walked so far just for a park," She grumbled, setting her book down as she massaged one of her feet through her shoe.

Harry looked around them. There were plenty of adults, and even some teens around their age, but he didn't see any kids. Even on the metal equipment the ages ranged from teen to elderly. He frowned.

"Where are all the kids?"

Hermione rolled her eyes as she picked up her book. "Oh, Harry, this isn't that sort of park. The kids play equipment is somewhere down that way." She gestured past the equipment they were near, and Harry looked. He glimpsed bright colors through the intermingled trees, across the large span of grass. "This park is mostly for people who want to stay in shape, sort of like a free gym. The path winds all the way around along the edge, and the equipment here is for exercise, not playing on. I think my dad said the path is two kilometers, all told. He runs it once a month just to prove to himself that he still can."

Harry shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he went over to a large board covered in a dusty film of plastic. The thick plastic front was too dirty to see the lettering, but the pictures were clearly of how to use the equipment in the area, showing stick-like figures performing action stills, like they'd been caught mid-workout. With a shrug, Harry walked over to a low hanging bar and one that was slightly taller. Oliver had always had him practice upper body workouts, so he was honed to catch the snitch, but he wasn't sure he could still do half the things he'd done back then. Since becoming captain of the Quidditch team, his training had been focused on broom maneuvers.

Deciding to test himself, the Gryffindor pulled his hands out of his pockets and leapt up to grab the taller bar, which sat a good foot above his head. With a bit of a struggle, he managed to pull himself up and touch his chin to the warm metal. He dropped back to the ground with a sigh. He definitely needed to get back into shape. A quick glance around said no one would notice if he took his shirt off. The baggy material had been more of a hindrance than he ever could have guessed. He walked back over to his friend and pulled the tee over his head.

"Will you watch this for me?"

Hermione looked up and took the shirt. "I doubt anyone is going to take it, but sure." She set it down on the bench beside her and returned to her book. "Don't hurt yourself, Harry. That walk is murder, and there's no way I'd be able to carry you all the way back to my house if you pull a hamstring or something."

Harry nodded, turning back to the gym equipment with determination. "You bet, Hermione." He saw the piece of equipment he was looking for just as an elderly gentleman in a white muscle shirt got off, and he walked over to the intricate design. It mimicked rowing, and would do to help him strengthen his arms.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry had been working out for about a half hour when the sun finally breached the wall of clouds overhead. He'd tried every piece of equipment at some point until he found the pieces he was most comfortable with, and the ones that gave him the greatest challenge. When the sun finally broke free of it's prison, he was doing hanging sit-ups on the lower bar beside the one he'd started on. The sky and surroundings tilted dangerously as he forced his body up and down in swift, smooth motions. He'd lost count somewhere around twenty, but when he thought he might've reached fifty, he let himself hang upside down for a minute to catch his breath. As his breathing regulated, he watched the upside-down world around him. The sun shone brightly, and the mingled wild flowers in the grass seemed to be reaching for it's summer warmth. When he thought he could, he rose up one more time and grabbed the bar to get himself down. He was still trying to get his leg free when something caught his attention across the grass. His sweaty palm slipped as he froze, and he fell to the grass in astonishment. He quickly scrambled to his feet and stumbled over to his friend.

"Hermione!" He sat down on the bench beside her, staring after what had caught his eye.

The girl wrinkled her nose as she handed him his shirt, not looking up from her book. "You smell sweaty." She commented.

Harry smirked. "S'what happens. But, look, is that Snape?"

Hermione still didn't look up. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry."

"I'm serious, I think that's him."

With a sigh of aggravation, the bushy brunette looked up and around. "I don't see anybody. Who're you talking about?"

Harry gestured across the grass at a man walking the path no more than a hundred yards from them, just drawing even with bench. "Just there."

Hermione squinted at the distant figure. "I dunno, Harry. I suppose it does look a lot like Snape, but I doubt it is. I'd know if I lived that close to a teacher."

"What if it is? I can't really tell from here," Harry argued, shading his eyes.

"Leave it alone, Harry. Go back to your workout, and let me finish my chapter. We've still got a couple hours before we should head back for lunch," Hermione commanded lightly, lifting her book again.

"But, Hermione-"

"Leave it alone," The girl repeated. "Even if it was Snape, which I highly doubt, what would you say to him? It's not like you two are the best of friends. You hate each other, and I doubt that would change even in the Muggle World."

Harry shrugged. "I guess that's true. S'just weird, seeing a teacher doing something so… _normal_."

"Even weirder that there's a Muggle who looks so much like Snape," Hermione said teasingly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I get it, it's probably not him." He lifted his shirt and mopped at the sweat on his torso. "I'm definitely going to need a shower when we get back." He got up, leaving his shirt where he'd sat down, and stretched. His muscles were nowhere near exhausted yet, but he could tell it would take the rest of the summer to get back to where he had been before Wood had left and taken his training regimen with him. He moved back towards the gleaming metal equipment, but caught himself watching the familiar figure out of the corner of his eye. Hermione seemed certain it couldn't be Snape, but Harry wasn't as convinced. Stranger things had happened, and he was starting to realize just how small the world really was.

His curiosity continued to nag at him through the rest of his workout, even though he didn't see the might-be Snape again after he'd passed out of sight behind some trees. Even as they walked back to Hermione's house, his friend moaning the whole way about her feet coming off at the hinges, he found his mind drifting to the familiar stranger. Why was it so important, that the man be Snape? Hermione was right, they were enemies of a sort, so why wouldn't it leave him alone? It seemed such a small thing to be focusing on.

They spent the rest of the day studying, and managed to finish most of their homework. Harry cooked dinner later, just for something to do that didn't involve school texts. The Grangers were immensely grateful to the point that Harry wasn't sure his blush would ever recede. That night, he dreamed of the might-be Snape.

In the dream, he followed the might-be Snape through the hedge maze from the Triwizard Tournament. The man glided in and out of all the obstacles, while Harry struggled past them. When they reached the center where the cup should have been, Harry rounded a corner in the path to see the man sitting atop the trophy pedestal, facing away from him. He stepped forward and reached out, certain that now he would see the familiar face he was so sure he'd find. When he made to grasp the figure's shoulder, though, the body turned to smoke in his hands. He looked around him wildly, sure he'd find the man walking down one of the hedge paths, but as he spun on the spot, he saw that the hedge paths were gone, replaced by total darkness. He spotted the might-be Snape a ways away, lying as still as death in a spot of light, his back still to him. When he tried to move towards the prone form, his legs caught in a swampy black that began to suck him in. A cruel, jeering laugh echoed in the dark, and glowing red eyes peered out at him as he struggled not to drown in the cold, bubbling oubliette.

 _-Break-_

Harry awoke with the sun the next morning, covered in a sheen of cold sweat. The dream had frightened him, but it had also hardened his resolve. He _had_ to find out if that was Snape he'd seen in the park. It probably wasn't the life or death situation that his dream had made it out to be, but for all he knew it might be. And it was clear his curiosity wasn't going to let it go until he knew for sure, in any case. His decision made, the Boy Who Lived got up and dressed in more of his cousin's hand-me-downs. When he reached the kitchen, he realized no one else was awake yet, so, after a little exploration, he made coffee and settled at the kitchen table with his homework. After a time, he heard Hermione's parents moving around in their bedroom above him, and he set his homework aside in favor of cooking another meal for his hosts.

Violet was the first down the stairs, and she looked delighted to see Harry at the stove.

"Oh, Harry, you don't have to do that. Especially after that wonderful dinner you cooked last night."

Harry blushed. "I-I don't mind, really. I love to cook, and it makes me feel useful. If it bothers you, I'm sure I could find something else to do."

"Bother me?" Violet asked, looking confused as she moved to make a cup of coffee. "Why would it bother me, dear? If it's something you enjoy, I won't stand in the way. I just don't want you to feel like you're obligated to do something for us. You are a guest, after all."

"N-no," Harry stammered, pouring eggs into a pan as the bacon and sausage started to brown. "I really do enjoy it."

"Then I'm happy to let you cook, Harry," Violet said, kissing his head once she'd done adding sugar and cream to her coffee. "I may take issue with it, though, if you continue to cook so well. I daresay I'll gain a stone by summer's end, if you do."

Harry stifled a chuckle. "I'll work on that."

"Don't you listen to her, Harry," Jack said, coming into the kitchen as he buttoned his shirt cuffs. "She's just jealous that you're a better cook than she is."

"I am not jealous, Jack, I'm happy about it. If anyone should be jealous, it's you and Hermione. You both burn toast," Violet said, getting another mug down for her husband.

"Proudly, Vi, you forgot the part where I _proudly_ burn toast," Jack boasted.

Harry chuckled, looking away politely when the two shared a chaste kiss over their coffees. Hermione chose that moment to walk in as well.

"You two are embarrassing."

Jack chuckled and set his coffee down as he swung his wife into his arms and dipped her, making her squeal in surprise and delight. Violet batted at his arm with her free hand until he righted her again, spilling her coffee. Harry immediately moved to the cupboard off the kitchen and grabbed the mop they kept there. He made quick work of the floor and cast a mild wandless cleaning charm, the one thing he was a fair hand at, on the mop before replacing it in its cupboard. He came back out of the closet and noticed that his hosts were all three staring at him. Hermione was watching him with sympathy, but her parents stared with unveiled curiosity. He blushed.

"Sorry, habit," he muttered uncomfortably, moving back to the stove.

"Hmm," Violet hummed with a touch of annoyance. "Yes, Hermione mentioned about your relatives. I hope you know you won't be _expected_ to do any of that here. You're our guest, Harry, and isn't your job to clean up after us."

Harry winced. "Thank you, Mrs. Granger, but it really is just a habit."

"Quite," Violet murmured, sounding as if she disapproved. She brightened again as Harry began to dish out the breakfast he'd cooked. "So, what do you two have planned for today?"

"Studying," Harry said at the same time as Hermione. He chuckled as he brought all four plates to the table at once. Jack actually applauded the feat as Harry set the plates down.

A mischievous glint entered Violet's eyes as Harry sat down with them. "Well, if you've got nothing else to do, I thought the four of us might go out."

Harry looked at Hermione, who smirked back over her own coffee.

"What did you have in mind, Mum?"

"There's a sale at Harrods," Violet said nonchalantly. "I thought we might go into town for some shopping, and perhaps enjoy a nice lunch while we're there."

Hermione's smirk turned mischievous, copying the glint in her mother's eye. "You know, Mum, I don't think Harry's ever been to Harrods. Maybe after lunch we could explore, let you and Dad catch a film or something."

Violet brightened remarkably. "What a lovely idea, Hermione. We'll make a day of it!"

This apparently settled the discussion. Wisely, neither of the men at the table had been consulted. Harry happened to catch Jack's eye over his breakfast, and the man chuckled lightly. The look on his face clearly stated that Harry was in for a long day, and that the man had no sympathy for him. Harry suspected that, with Hermione away at school so much, Jack had played dress-up one too many times in years previous. The group finished their breakfast, Hermione chattering with her father about things in the Wizarding newspaper as well as the Muggle one while Violet engaged Harry in talk about his time at Hogwarts. She seemed especially curious about his wandless magic, but was too polite to ask him outright. Harry was vaguely reminded of a less prying Arthur Weasley as she questioned the very basis of magic itself.

When breakfast had done, and Harry had cleaned up with Hermione's help, the Granger family left Harry alone long enough to put his homework away while they dressed for a day out. Upon returning downstairs, he found Jack waiting alone by the door. He blushed self-consciously as he approached.

"I imagine Hermione's already warned you about what you'll be up against today," Jack said, grinning.

Harry nodded. "She mentioned something about it yesterday. I didn't think she was serious, though, to be honest."

Jack chuckled. "Afraid so. Here," He took his hand out of the pocket of his jeans and held it out, palm down.

Harry held out is own hand curiously and found a twenty pound note slapped into the middle. He stared at it for a moment, then looked up at the man uncertainly. "I can't take this, Mr.-"

"I insist, Harry," Jack said, his smile softening. "It's not payment for anything, and it isn't money you'll owe back, it's an honest gift. I want you to use that money to get something _you_ like while we're out today. Violet will probably insist I give you both some spending money after lunch, but this is just for you, to do with as you see fit."

Harry looked at the note again. His first thought was to try again to refuse it, but Hermione's voice in his mind gently reminded him that it would be considered rude. Still, Harry didn't exactly feel comfortable accepting money from his best friend's parents, especially money he hadn't earned in some way. He looked back up at the man who never seemed to lose his smile.

"Are you sure, Sir? I haven't done anything to warrant your generosity," He mumbled.

Jack actually laughed. "You've done more than you know, Harry, but this isn't a payment of any kind. The good thing about generosity is that you don't have to do anything to earn it."

Still unsure about taking money he hadn't earned, Harry slipped the note into his pocket. He smiled shyly as they finally heard the rest of their quartet coming down the stairs. Jack's smile brightened upon seeing his "best girls" and he led the way out to the car. Harry climbed into the backseat with Hermione. He knew it was his imagination, but the money in his pocket felt like a twenty pound stone, rather than a scrap of colorful paper. He had never been given money before, save his inheritance, and he felt like a rat accepting it. He doubted the Grangers would understand, though, so he made himself a solemn promise. Hermione had mentioned on the train that she had summer chores, and Harry made a mental list of the things he could do himself. He couldn't return the money, but he could earn it, at least in his own mind. He couldn't have said why it bothered him so much. It was such a small thing.

The Boy Who Lived, who had been slumped in his seat with his bothersome thoughts, straightened as they passed the park. His curiosity would have to wait another day, apparently, but he still watched out the window for the might-be Snape. Just as he was about to give up, he spotted the tell-tale black hair and slim shoulders of the man he'd seen yesterday. He was standing with his back to the road, near a mobile coffee vendor. Harry slumped slightly when they passed by without the man looking round. Soon, the park was behind them, and they were on their way into London.


	6. Chapter 6

True to Hermione's warning, Harry spent the morning as a Ken doll, modeling look after look until his friend's mum found one that she liked. She apparently felt that 'business casual' best suited Harry, and they then set about the task of shopping for enough outfits to serve her appetite for such things. She allowed a shop assistant to choose his color palette, after a frustrating attempt at pastels, her personal favorite. In the end, it was decided that the darker side of the spectrum suited his complexion and eye color best, though Violet insisted on a few lighter colors, especially white shirts that reminded both Hogwarts students of their school uniform. By lunch, they had close to a dozen bags, each with three shirts or pairs of trousers, which Jack carried out to the car without complaint.

After a light lunch at the pizzeria, Violet did indeed insist that her husband give Harry and Hermione 'play' money while they went to see a film. Harry gaped when they were each handed a fifty pound note with a warning not to spend it all in the arcade. He only stopped gaping when Hermione elbowed him roughly. Violet seemed to think his surprise the height of hilarity, as she was chuckling inconsolably as her husband led her away.

As soon as her parents were gone, Hermione dragged Harry into the men's area, where they'd spent most of the morning.

"I assume you plan to make use of that park near my house," She said, leading him to a rack of clothes that looked like upper scale workout gear.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I guess I do. You know how active I am, and I can't exactly play Quidditch."

"Exactly," Hermione said, shifting clothing on a rack. "You'll need clothes to work out in, then. I thought about saying something to Mum, but I could tell you were getting tired of playing dress-up."

"I _am_ tired of playing dress-up. I'm not used to getting that much attention from anyone, and I'm _famous_ in the Wizarding World," Harry groaned.

His friend looked at him sympathetically. "I know you hate attention, Harry, but it really is for the best. Now you have a wardrobe of clothes that don't look like the hand-me-downs of a whale. Plus, you made Mum happy."

Harry grinned as he started looking through a rack marked 'sale'. "I don't think there's much in this world that could make your mum or dad _unhappy_. It's amazing how much they smile and laugh. My 'perfect' relatives are never that happy."

Hermione turned to look at the other side of the rack he was browsing. "They are happy a lot, that's true. I think I've seen my mum cry only a few times, and my dad never has as far as I know. All the world is good in their eyes. They can be cross when it calls for it, and stern when I need them to be, but mostly they're happy."

"And it isn't false," Harry pointed out. "That's something I find amazing. They really are just happy. Especially your dad."

Hermione bit her lip, and Harry looked at her curiously. "You know," She began softly. "I bet your parents would have been just as amazing if they'd had the chance."

Harry frowned and returned to browsing the clothing he was standing in front of. "My mum, maybe…Even _probably_ , but I doubt my dad would have been so 'amazing'. Especially if I'd been sorted into Slytherin like the Hat wanted."

"What makes you say that?"

Harry winced. He'd never told anyone of what he'd seen in Snape's pensieve that had caused the man to end their Occlumency lessons. Despite the anger he felt for the man, who loathed him just because of who his father was, he didn't think he could ever tell anyone what he saw. He wouldn't break the oath he'd made, even if the man never knew about said oath. He shrugged, scowling as he remembered his father bullying a young Snape unprovoked.

"Something Sirius told me once," He lied. "Apparently, my dad was a bit of a bully back in the day. I doubt that would have changed by the time they had me in their lives. My mum and dad were only a couple years out of Hogwarts when they had me. Sirius thought his mistreatment of Slytherins was a laugh riot, but they were worse than Malfoy. My dad was in on it when Sirius sent Snape after Lupin. He only backed out at the last minute when he realized how much trouble they could get in."

"That's awful," Hermione exclaimed in shock. "They could have killed another student and your dad only thought of the trouble he'd be in?"

Harry sent a sly glance to his friend. "In your own words," He continued in high falsetto. "I'm going to bed before either of you comes up with another clever idea to get us all killed. Or worse, _expelled_."

Hermione giggled. "Fair enough, Harry. Still, I'm sorry about your dad. It must be difficult to find that a man you hold in such high esteem isn't all he was cracked up to be."

Harry shrugged. "I've learned to deal with it. Here we go." He took two sets of clothing off the rack and held them up for his friend to see. "What do you think?"

Hermione studied the clothing. "They'll be comfortable," She agreed. "And I'll bet you look nice in them. Are they what you want?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically and his friend grinned. They moved together towards the checkout counter, but Hermione dragged him off again as they passed the shoes. After another twenty minutes looking for a nice pair of sneakers (her mum had chosen nicer shoes during her earlier dressing game), they moved to the counter. Hermione insisted on buying the shoes for him, and Harry relented only after she agreed to let him buy her a bracelet of assorted brown-black stones that was near the register. Their purchases in hand, Hermione then insisted they get ice cream, and they went back to the pizzeria. With their treats finished, they spent the rest of their time until her parents returned in the bookshop, simply browsing, though Hermione did leave with a few new titles to add to her collection at home.

 **To answer some question that people don't leave a freaking name for me to reply to:**

 **Harry has to tell Hermione to wear proper shoes and clothes for the walk because it's a bonding moment. Hermione is not athletically inclined, thus she's never worn the sneakers in her closet. It's bonding, pure and simple. They aren't bimbo's and they aren't being vapid, they're talking about something they could never talk about with Ron around, making his absence viable.**

 **Harry is taken shopping by Hermione's parents because it's a means of showing the difference in social standing. Hermione's parents are overly generous, and Harry has to figure out how to deal with accepting things from other people. It's a set up for a conversation he has later with Snape. Patience is a GD virtue, learn it!**


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Harry set off to the park in his brand new workout clothes, freshly laundered. The walk took less time on this excursion, since he was headed there with a purpose rather than meandering with Hermione. He went immediately to the exercise yard and the bar he'd been doing hanging sit-ups on the last time. It was still early enough that there were only a few people around, most walking the path with little yipping dogs that sniffed at everything they passed. Harry didn't think most of the adults would be out for another hour, and he wouldn't hear the distant screams of joy and laughter from the children's park through the trees and across the lawn until about 10.

Even so, Harry kept a weather eye for the familiar lanky black hair and cocky height that he was sure would be matched by a dark sneer and hooked nose. Glancing around, he grabbed the bar and lifted his feet to swing over. His shirt was fitted enough he didn't need to remove it this time. He crossed his legs at the ankle, hooking his feet against each other, and released the bar. With a quiver of his stomach muscles, he let his upper body fall in a slow arc as he put his hands behind his head. With another surreptitious glance around what he could see of the upside-down park path, he started his first fifty-set. With every down stroke, he watched the park slowly fill as the sun rose over the trees. He never spotted his prey.

When his fifty reps were finished, he moved to the rudimentary rowing machine and started on the two hundred reps he wanted to complete. His ultimate goal was to manage twenty chin-ups by the end of summer. He wasn't anywhere near that. His attempt two days ago had shown how out of shape he was. Hermione, when he'd told her of his plans over ice cream, had laughed. His body was apparently well-shaped, in her opinion. It hadn't mattered that he argued physical fitness over appearance, she just laughed him off and said he was too self-conscious.

In his concentration of counting reps and thinking about his friend, Harry didn't notice the stern posture of the might-be Snape until he was halfway around the concrete path, again with his back to him. When Harry did finally spot the raven-haired mystery waltzing ever-so-calmly in black pants, blacker sneakers, and a smart white button-down, he froze on the row machine at 196. He looked at his new watch Hermione's mum had bought him. It was closing on 8am. He looked back up and realized the would-be Snape had vanished from view.

"Damn," He muttered darkly.

The lone Gryffindor released the handles of the equipment and slid back as the metal components reset. He stood up and decided he would skip the rest of his workout. Merlin knew why, but satisfying his curiosity took sudden precedence. It wasn't the torturous, driving need he'd felt from the dream the day before, but it still mattered dearly to him. And, being bullheaded as he was, it didn't matter at all to him _why_ it was so important. He jogged across the wide expanse of grass between him and the path where he'd last seen Might-Be Snape.

The sidewalk veered around a large grove of bushes, one of several around the park, and when he came around the corner he spotted his prey a fair distance out. Prudence, small though it was, kept him from jogging after the man and screaming Snape's name. If it _was_ the Potions Master, it would look incredibly stupid, and if it wasn't, he'd look like an even bigger ass. Instead, he slowed his pace to match the long stride of the man and simply followed him. Reason dictated that he'd have to look around eventually, and when Harry's curiosity was satisfied he could return to his workout. Might-be Snape would be none the wiser that he'd been followed, and Harry would have an answer.

For the next hour, Harry walked the path, round and round the park, always expecting his quarry to turn. Never once did the man even pause to tie a shoe. Harry, who had never spent this much time dedicated to any task that didn't involve studying or cleaning, quickly grew bored and broke off. His frustration aside, he didn't have it in him to be patient any longer. Instead he went back to the exercise yard and did fifty more reps on the low bar, working off his frustration. By the time he had done, Might-be Snape had vanished. Harry watched for him for several minutes, but he never reappeared on the path. The stubborn Gryffindor allowed a brief moment where he considered _searching_ for the man, but gave it up even before the thought had fully crossed his mind. It was a lost cause, and he'd just have to try again tomorrow. It was already later than he'd told Hermione he would be.

Still frustrated, and certain Hermione would be worried, he jogged all the way back to his friend's house. By the time he reached her street, his legs were on fire and his jog had slowly slipped into a slow trudge. He walked into the house gasping for breath and ready to let his trembling legs collapse under him. Hermione looked up from the book she'd been reading on the couch.

"Did you run back?" She asked, laughing. "You look like you tried to outrun a Manticore."

Harry smiled, sucking air as quickly as he dispelled it. "Sorry…I'm late…Got…Distracted."

"I wasn't bothered," Hermione shrugged. "You didn't run all the way back just for me, did you?"

Harry nodded, grabbing a stitch in his side. "Didn't…want…to worry…you."

Hermione giggled, standing up and walking towards him. "Oh, Harry, don't be silly, I know you can take care of yourself; and I know how easily distracted you are. Make you a deal. From now on, as long as you're back by lunch I won't call out a search party, okay?" She kissed his moist forehead before scrubbing her lips. "Ew, sweat. Why don't you shower and I'll make us an early lunch?"

Harry grinned. "How about I shower and then _I_ make us an early lunch?"

"I'm not that bad of a cook."

The Wizarding Savior raised a dubious eyebrow. "Right, and I don't smell."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Well…you don't smell _that_ bad."

Eyebrow still lifted precariously, Harry lifted his arms and started moving towards his friends. "Is that right? So you wouldn't mind a smelly, sweaty bear hug then?" Hermione started to back away. "Since I don't smell _that_ bad, like you said."

"Harry James, don't you dare."

"Come on, Rabbit, s'just a hug!" Harry cried, using the nickname Hermione's dad used. He sped up, moving towards his friend who squealed and dodged him as he tried to wrap his arms around her.

In seconds he was chasing her around her parents' living room, laughing as she squealed in delight and terror. When he finally caught her in his arms she screamed laughter and struggled futilely in his grasp. He bellowed laughter as she beat at him with open palms.

"Harry James, you put me down this instant!" She shrieked, still laughing.

"Say it, 'Mione!"

"Fine!" She giggled. "You can cook lunch, just let me _go_!"

Harry set her back on her feet and backed away as she smacked his chest, both of them still laughing. "Good. Now I can shower without the fear that I'm going to my last meal."

Hermione gaped at him, amused and affronted at the same time, and suddenly it was her chasing him, batting playfully at his head and shoulders. He darted up the stairs and into the bathroom, laughing wildly all the while. He was still laughing as he stepped under the hot spray of the shower head. Snape was, for now, completely forgotten. In fact, for the next few days, Harry barely recalled his curiosity, too busy with calculating how much work he had to do to work off the money Hermione's dad had given him. He couldn't bring his concern to Hermione, knowing what she would say. Instead, he set about the task himself, mentally preparing meals to serve, and cataloguing the chores he could do before Hermione remembered that they were her job. For nearly a week, he followed Might-be Snape around the path of the park distractedly, breaking off sooner and sooner when his persistence gained no result. Mostly, he couldn't recall why the man had mattered in the first place. It was, after all, such a small thing.


	8. Chapter 8

A little over a week into the summer holiday, Harry had another dream about the man he thought could be his Potions professor. This time they were in the park, and Might-be Snape was walking ahead of him. Harry followed, but no matter how fast he walked, the distance between them grew. Eventually he was running, but still Might-be Snape stayed ahead, always walking. He rounded a grove of bushes with ice in his veins, remembering what had happened the last time. His heart froze as he realized he'd walked right into a Death Eater meeting at Riddle Manor. Might-be Snape was kneeling in the center with his hands tied behind his back, his chin tucked against his chest so that his hair obscured his face. His white shirt was painted red. Harry rushed into the circle of leering white masks, but again as he reached the Potions Master's side, the man vanished under his finger tips and a swirling vortex of black swallowed him whole. A devilish ooze filled his mouth and nose as he tried to scream.

Harry started awake, gasping for air. A look around at the shadows of the room said that the sun wouldn't be up for another hour or more and he collapsed back onto his sweat-soaked sheets. Had he the energy to muster, he could have moved to the dry side of the large mattress, but his muscles trembled miserably, and he doubted he could even manage to sit up again. The dream had scared him, but more than that it had exhausted him. The thought of falling back to sleep terrified him, and he lay staring at the ceiling until the sun had brightened the sky and he heard the Grangers moving around downstairs. When he thought he could manage, he got up. His legs trembled threateningly at first, but by the time he'd finished dressing in his workout clothes, they'd steadied enough that he felt safe going down stairs.

The Boy Who Lived walked into the kitchen to see Hermione chattering with her mother. Violet was still cooking at the stove, and Jack was hemming and hawing as he pretended to follow the conversation while reading the Muggle newspaper. After a week of the routine, Harry went to the cupboard and got the same mug he'd used every morning previous, filling it with steaming coffee. Without even thinking about it, he cast a cooling charm on the brew and sipped at it gratefully as he sat at the table beside his friend. Hermione, who observed everything, stopped talking to her mother and turned to Harry. Her brown eyes shone with absolute concern.

"Harry, are you alright?"

Upon hearing this, Violet turned from the stove and Jack lowered his newspaper, both staring at him openly.

"I'm fine," The Wizarding Savior muttered. He sipped at his coffee, but couldn't hide the tremor of the cup as he struggled to lift it to his lips. "S'just a bad night, is all."

"You look like…well, I'd say death warmed over," Violet said, walking over to him. "Except I've seen corpses look more alive. Are you sure you're alright, dear?"

Harry nodded as the woman bent and kissed the clammy skin of his forehead. Jack watched all of this with his own, silent concern. If Harry had been more himself, he'd have been shocked to see anything but a smile on the man's face. He managed only mild interest through the exhaustion he felt to his very bones. Violet pulled away with a frown.

"You're not warm, but I still don't like the look of you," She murmured. "Maybe I should stay home today, help Hermione look after you."

Harry shook his head. "Please don't," He muttered, looking up at her dolefully. "I really am fine. It's just…I had a bad night, like I said." He looked at Hermione pleadingly, and his friend grabbed his hand on the table, turning to her mum.

"Harry has nightmares," Hermione explained softly. "He doesn't really like to talk about it, but trust me when I say he'll be fine. Harry's strong, and he's got me to lean on."

Her parents both nodded as if they understood, and after staring at their guest for another long moment, returned to their business. The silence was deafening. Harry stared at his mug with a frown. He doubted if they, even Hermione, would really understand if they knew what sort of dream had left him in such a state. He didn't entirely understand it himself. He knew enough about his own mind to know that he'd somehow convinced himself that the man in the park really was Snape, but that didn't explain the dreams. He had dreamed of death in the past, but it had always been people he cared about, or had witnessed die in Voldemort's visions. Never had he been so terrified for a man who was practically a stranger to him; a man who loathed his very existence, no less.

Hermione, bless her, quickly distracted her parents with talk of their practice while Harry brooded over his coffee. The room almost visibly brightened as her father and mother started to talk shop with their daughter. And when Violet brought four plates to the table, Harry didn't argue, forcing himself to eat even though he felt less like doing so than he ever had. He didn't miss it when the matronly woman surreptitiously watched him, and he didn't want to worry her further. Jack, true to form, went back to laughing and smiling. He, at least, seemed to trust his daughter's word when Hermione insisted Harry would be fine. Harry breathed an internal sigh of relief when his summer benefactors rose to leave for work. Violet left the room, but Jack held back to give Hermione her weekly allowance. Harry stared in confusion when he found a ten pound note being held out to him as well.

"Hermione's mentioned how much you've been helping with her chores," Jack chuckled. "Around here, we reward a job well done, and I have to say that the house has never looked nicer."

Harry frowned. "Sir, I can't-" He gasped and winced when Hermione kicked him under the table. Filled with trepidation and guilt, he took the note. "Thank you, Mr. Granger."

Hermione grinned, hugging her father goodbye, and Jack took an extra moment to ruffle Harry's hair affectionately. After his routine warning about steering clear of adventures, he left with his wife. As soon as the front door shut and they heard the car engine start, Hermione leveled Harry with a glare that frightened him. It was her 'I know' look, and he couldn't even begin to guess what she might know.

"You're dreaming about Ron, aren't you?" She demanded.

Harry actually slumped in relief. "No, Hermione, I'm not."

His friend seemed completely unconvinced. "You've got to let him go, Harry. He's bad news, and he isn't worth your time."

"He's my friend," Harry argued, forgetting for a moment that he really wasn't dreaming about the redhead.

"He _was_ your friend, Harry," Hermione corrected sternly. "And he's an ass. He abandoned you, remember? Not the other way 'round. He doesn't deserve your sleepless nights, or for you to defend him. He lost that right when he called you that awful word and walked out on his friends."

"Ron's an idiot, Hermione, but that doesn't make him a bad person!" Harry said, taking his plate to the sink and washing it, as well as those of his friend's parents. "It doesn't matter, anyway, I wasn't dreaming about Ron."

When Hermione joined him with her own plate, he washed that as well, just for something to do with his hands. Ron was still a touchy subject for them both. Harry still held a dim hope that the other boy would come around, but Hermione didn't seem to care if he did or not. She was done with him, but Harry couldn't let himself reach that point after years of friendship.

"Then what were you dreaming about?" Hermione demanded hotly.

Harry shrugged, putting the plates and silverware in the drain board. He dried his hands on the black cotton of his jogging pants, momentarily leaving dark handprints in the fabric. He went back to the coffee pot and refilled his cup.

"I-I don't know what the dream was," He told his friend. It wasn't entirely a lie. He was clear on the content, but knew next to nothing about the context. "I just know that it scared the hell out of me, and I'd appreciate a little sympathy, instead of being harangued."

Hermione glowered for a minute before closing her eyes. She drew a deep breath in through her nose, and when she opened her eyes her anger was gone, replaced by her earlier sympathy. Harry set his mug down as his friend drew him into a gentle embrace. He rested his head on her shoulder with a deep sigh.

"I feel like I'm going crazy, 'Mione," He murmured. "Ron's the least of my problems right now, and I'm tired of fighting about him."

"I know, Harry," His friend whispered into his hair. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought him up. Why don't you go lay down for a bit? I'll wake you for lunch."

Harry pulled away, shaking his head. "No. I appreciate the offer, but I really just want to go for a walk, to clear my head. Maybe when I get back we can practice our wandless magic? We haven't done that in a while."

Hermione looked unconvinced by his false joviality. She cupped his cheek and brushed her thumb over his cheekbone. "You're sure?"

Harry nodded. Going to the park and finding Snape was the one thing he _was_ sure of. Hermione smiled gently.

"Okay, Harry, then you go ahead," She murmured.

The intelligent witch kissed his cheek, hugged him again, then moved back to the table where her father had left the newspaper. Harry smiled genuinely and walked over to place a gentle kiss on her cheek in return. Despite his misgivings about giving up on Ron before the other boy had a chance to redeem himself, he didn't understand why he'd thought himself closer to the redhead all these years. He wasn't convinced the Weasley was a lost cause, but his short time with just Hermione had taught him that she was a much better friend either way. Harry left the house, safe in the knowledge that, though they disagreed about some things, Hermione would always be there for him.


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Harry reached the park, he was no longer as sure about his decision to seek out Might-be Snape. He was still physically drained from the nightmare, and his legs felt like it would take very little to stop working altogether. But it was the very dream that had drained him that got him moving again. He didn't care if his legs fell _off_ ; he had to prove to himself that it wasn't Snape. Maybe then the nightmares would stop. As if the gods were listening, he found the familiar stranger walking not much further down the path from where Harry entered the park.

Giving up the task of following the man at a distance, Harry forced his legs into a jog. He slowed only a few paces behind the man and matched the obscenely long stride with two of his own steps. His thighs trembled tiredly, but he continued on, thinking what he could say to catch the man's attention. 'Hey, Snape' seemed too brash, but his tired mind seemed unable to come up with much more. Halfway around the concrete track, the point became null. The man stopped walking, and turned abruptly.

Harry froze, but didn't cower as black eyes bored into him angrily. Damn. He hadn't wanted it to be Snape anymore, and, it was. It was definitely the Potions Master of Hogwarts; no one could match that look of dark loathing. Even Voldemort had fallen short, back when he'd been a problem. Harry felt sure that somewhere the gods were laughing at him.

"Stop following me!"

Harry scowled stubbornly. "It's a free park. I can walk the path, same as you, Snape."

"That's _Professor_ to you, Potter." The man snarled almost automatically.

Harry scoffed. "Not out here it isn't. You don't have any power over me here, away from the school." He didn't know why he was baiting the man, but he was. He chalked it up to exhaustion and habit.

Snape glared for a moment, looking as if he were prepared to argue one matter (being followed), or the other (Harry's address), further. Harry straightened and glared back. If the man wanted a fight, he'd get one. Harry was just tired enough not to care at this point. Finally, Snape harrumphed angrily and turned back to the path. When he walked off, he was more stalking than anything.

Harry followed for a bit longer, but soon his legs protested the pace and he was forced to slow, quickly losing sight of the man. The Gryffindor stopped altogether when Snape had walked out of sight, and turned instead towards his home-for-the-summer. He desperately wanted to crawl into a bed for ten or twenty hours of uninterrupted sleep. He returned to the Grangers, where Hermione coaxed him into a day-long movie marathon in front of her parents' telly. Harry found this to be a much better way to spend the day, and when Hermione's parents returned from work, they seemed to agree, joining them in the sitting room. They ordered pizza for dinner and laughed their way through a romantic comedy. That night, Harry thought himself too tired to do much dreaming. His subconscious disagreed, and he dreamt again of a faceless Potions Master in peril, always just out of reach.

 _-Break-_

The next day when Harry spotted Snape, he fell into step behind him again. He didn't know why, but with his dreams becoming more frequent he didn't know what else he could. For no reason he could discern, he became suddenly convinced that this was not Snape, it was someone else. In answer to this sudden certainty, he sped up to walk beside the man and again matched the stride. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, reassured himself that it was indeed Snape, and decided he liked it much better when he could see the man's face. He continued to walk beside the man for close to an hour. When it became clear the man either didn't notice or was ignoring his presence, he broke off and returned to the exercise yard to perform his morning workout. That night he did not dream of Snape.


	10. Chapter 10

For the next several days, Harry walked _with_ Snape, rather than behind him. Soon, he began to talk of inconsequential things. He would speak of the weather one day, a movie he'd watched the next, and his studies the next. All in an attempt to get the man to at least acknowledge him. Each time, he would have to look to reassure himself that it really was the notorious Potions Master he was talking at, and would break off when he thought himself well-convinced. He did not dream of Snape again in this time, and the man never seemed to notice his presence. Until one day, he did.

Harry returned to the park and immediately sought out Snape. He spotted him all the way across the vast lawn, and jogged the distance, falling into step beside him. With no real forethought, he began to talk as soon as he'd matched the familiar stride.

"I'm thinking of teaching Hermione how to cook," He announced. A glance told him Snape was paying him no mind. He continued as if the man had responded. "She _says_ she likes taking after her father, Jack, in this regard, but I don't buy it. She offers to cook too much, and looks too crestfallen when someone tells her 'no', no matter how nicely me or her mother, Violet, say it. I think she _really_ wishes she could cook like her mum, who could've gone professional in my opinion. I'm not as good as all that, but I am a dab hand at it, and it would give us something to do besides practicing wandless magic every day."

It took a moment for Harry to notice that Snape was slowly drawing ahead. He sped up to match this new pace. A grin he couldn't stop split across his face at finally gaining some reaction from the stoic Potions master.

"Of course, the trouble is offering the lessons without offending her," Harry admitted.

Snape sped up again, and Harry matched him. He got what he thought to be the hint, though, and left off chattering. It was only a moment before Snape started to draw ahead of him again, and Harry sped up a third time. His shorter legs worked like the devil to maintain the new speed, but as soon as he drew even, Snape sped up again. Harry, knowing he would have to jog to keep up now, let the man go. The game was lost for the day. Another nightmare followed.

The next day, Snape continued to speed-walk, never losing his composure, until Harry would have to jog to keep up, and again the Gryffindor gave it up as lost. Again Snape's supposedly imminent doom consumed his night. Harry was beginning to sense a pattern to the dreams, but the glimmer of thought remained but an ember in his mind.

When Snape tried again the following day to out-walk Harry, the stubborn Gryffindor broke into a light jog to keep up. Snape, poised and proper as he was, did not seem prepared to break into a jog of his own. They remained even until Harry broke off to complete his real workout, satisfied that he had proven to himself Snape was indeed there. For three days Harry let himself believe Snape had given up trying to outpace him.

As the summer sun beat down on the third week of the holiday, the pattern changed again. Snape broke into his own jog to draw ahead. Harry jogged a little faster to stay beside him. Again, Snape sped up in his jog, and Harry pushed himself into a light sprint. Soon, Snape was sprinting as well, and Harry was having to push his own legs to keep up. The need for oxygen became too much, and Harry slowed to a stop, frustrated. Giving up for the day, he jogged off the path to the exercise yard, where he could work off his anger properly. He dreamt of Snape that night and the two next, following Snape's continued attempts to outpace him.

 _-Break-_

On the fourth day, Harry spoke again. In a way, it was almost cathartic to speak to the man, as if he were writing in a journal (something he generally avoided since Second Year). He caught up to Snape on the concrete track.

"I've been dreaming about you," Harry said conversationally as soon as he fell into step beside the man.

Snape didn't acknowledge this startling admission except to quicken his steps.

"Weird dreams that I don't know what to do with," Harry continued as if Snape had asked. He broke into a jog. "I don't mean to alarm you, but you die a lot in these dreams."

Harry was almost running by now, and Snape was barely into a jog. Still, Harry persisted, though he was too winded to maintain the one-sided conversation. This was assuming, of course, that he'd even known where he would go from there. He hadn't even told Hermione about his nightmares, but something had compelled him to spill it here. Snape continued to speed into a slightly faster jog, and now Harry _was_ running. He pushed himself to keep up until his legs could go no faster. Snape was fairly sprinting by the time Harry started to fall back. Harry slowed as the man darted steadily ahead. He couldn't keep up, and Snape knew it.

This new trend would last for another week. Harry would push himself to stay even to Snape until his lungs burned like fire and the stitch in his side made him want to scream. Every day, the Potions Master would pull ahead. He never looked at Harry, never acknowledged he was there, and he _never_ slowed or stopped…until one day, he did.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry pushed as Snape jogged calmly ahead of him. He strained his legs, driving forward, but he couldn't maintain the speed. He looked on in frustration as Snape outpaced him yet again. Soon, the distance between them was more than Harry had it in him to make up, and Harry slowed to a stop as Snape rounded a bend in the path that was hidden by a grove of tall bushes and taller trees. For a long moment, the out-of-breath Gryffindor just stood there, bent double with his hands pressed to his sides. When he still couldn't catch his breath, he turned his back to the park on one side of the path and let himself fall back on the slight, grassy incline. He laid there, immobile, simply gulping air into his starved lungs. Suddenly, a face appeared above his, looking at him with dubious concern. Harry stared suspiciously as a pale, long-fingered hand was held out to him in invitation. After a moment of hesitation, he reached up and let Snape pull him to his feet.

"Are you all right?" Snape asked, hardly breathing heavy at all.

Harry glowered. "I'm fine. Just a little winded is all."

Snape turned and started to walk away, and Harry jogged to catch up, still trying to drown himself in fresh oxygen. They walked in silence around the bend in the path, where Snape got into a short line that had formed near the coffee stand Harry had seen him at what seemed an eternity ago. Harry hung back, having left his money at Hermione's but sensing that Snape wasn't yet finished with him.

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape asked when his turn came.

Harry shook his head. "I'm okay. I left my money back at-"

"That is not what I asked." Snape interrupted without looking at him.

Harry frowned, realizing this was one of those times Hermione had mentioned, where it would be rude to refuse. The summer seemed full of these little traps thus far. "Um, I guess I like black coffee, then."

Snape did turn to look at him now, eyeing him curiously, but he turned back before Harry could think of anything to say.

"Two coffees."

The coffee merchant took the money Snape offered him, and gave back his change. Harry stood by awkwardly as the man set about making their simple order. Eventually, annoyed with hanging back like a kicked dog, the Gryffindor stepped up beside his professor. He took his coffee when it was handed to him and stared resolutely at the white lid.

"Thanks."

He let Snape lead the way to a nearby bench and stood by uncertainly when the man sat down. He still didn't know why Snape had suddenly seemed to take an interest in him.

"Sit, Potter."

Harry frowned again, but he sat on the short bench that left little room between them. They sat there together, drinking their coffee and watching the activity of the park. Harry discovered that he didn't so much mind the silence. When he'd begun his little game, he'd had no intention of changing the animosity between them, and he wasn't even sure that was what they were doing, but he almost reveled in the confusion. It was better than sitting in a fog of misery and nightmares, at any rate. After a long time, Snape got up and tossed his empty coffee cup into a nearby waste bin.

"Until tomorrow, Potter."

Harry watched the man go. He still didn't know what that was about, but he had a feeling his nightmares would stop, at least for now. The small ember had grown since that first glimpse, and he had some idea now of what was causing them on the surface. The truly underlying meaning and reason evaded him, but he didn't really care, as long as they stopped.

 _-Break-_

The following morning, Harry pocketed some of the money the Grangers kept insisting on giving him. He had no reason to believe Snape's strange interest would continue, but somehow he did. He thought a part of it might be the hope that it would, if only to stop the nightmares. When he got to the park, he found Snape walking the path near the same place he always was. As soon as Harry joined him, he received a side-long glance, a first he found he didn't mind. After a minute, Snape broke into a light jog that Harry found easy to match. He waited for the man to outpace him again, but it never happened. Instead, they remained side-by-side twice around the track, stopping only when they reached the same coffee vendor a second time.

Harry immediately got into line behind Snape, and the Potions Master eyed him carefully. The Gryffindor only shrugged and gestured when it came time for the man to order. Once they each had their own coffees, Harry followed his professor to the same bench from the day before. He sat down and blew at the boiling liquid.

For a time, Harry simply enjoyed the silence, but soon decided to play a new game.

"Muggle," He muttered as a woman jogged past on the path. He glanced at Snape, who smirked and leaned back on the bench.

The next time a bystander passed them, Snape spoke.

"Muggle."

Harry smiled into his coffee and waited as a pair of joggers grew even. "Muggle and Witch."

"State your source," Snape challenged.

"The hair," Harry said, pointing covertly. "The blonde's hair is frazzled by the sun and wind; the brunette doesn't have a hair out of place, and her pony isn't swinging with her stride."

Snape hummed thoughtfully and turned back to watching the path.

"Muggle."


	12. Chapter 12

Harry sat down on the bench with Snape, who'd bought his coffee for the first time since this had begun. He'd mastered his wandless casting, thanks to the previous day's painful inheritance, and he sipped at his coffee, which he'd cooled to just the right temperature. He watched as a teenage boy he'd never seen jogged past with his dog.

"Muggle."

"Wizard," Snape corrected lightly.

Harry looked closer and saw the handle of a wand sticking out of the bouncing pocket of the older boy's shorts. "Fair enough." They fell into a comfortable silence as they waited for the next jogger to round the bend in the path.

"It's your birthday."

Harry winced. "Don't remind me." He was slightly grateful that the man hadn't said 'happy birthday', and at least his knowledge explained why he'd bought both of their coffees again.

"I doubt you need me for that. You're legally an adult in our world. A year older, a year wiser, as the saying goes," Snape pointed out, sipping at his own coffee.

"And a year richer," Harry muttered darkly. He ignored the fluttery feeling in his chest when Snape said "our world". "I got a letter from Gringotts telling me just how much money I've got from my parents and Sirius, now that I'm a legal adult. Apparently, I'm officially supposed to meet the executor of my 'estate' when I go to get my school things. I didn't even know I had an estate, and now I've got an executor, more money than I've ever wanted anything to do with, and half the Wizarding World wishing me a 'happy birthday' while asking for a handout. _And_ , I still can't stop Hermione's parents giving me money for performing chores."

"You could stop doing the chores," Snape suggested idly.

"That wouldn't really solve my problem," Harry argued. He didn't know why he was telling Snape, of all people, about his problems, but it felt good to tell someone.

"Explain," Snape said, still watching the path.

Harry sighed. "I started doing the chores out of a sense of duty. A nice way of saying I started doing them in an attempt to pay back some money Hermione's mum and dad gave me at the start of the summer. I can't tell them I'm trying to work off my debt, because they don't believe there is one. And I can't refuse the money, because Hermione told me it's rude. I've tried more than once, anyway, and they just laugh me off."

"I take it you're not used to receiving such things?" The Potions Master inquired carefully.

"No," Harry answered. "I've received the random gift from strangers through the post, because of my supposed heroism, and I usually wind up giving those away to people who need whatever it is. But money for chores, or just to spend when I go out? Except what I've gotten from my parents and Sirius, I've never received _anything_ like that. My relatives were more likely to give me a heavy hand than a reward for finishing my chores. Hermione keeps telling me to think of their generosity as a gift, but I have trouble with that. I don't see myself as having done anything to deserve their generosity. And now they want to take me out this afternoon to pick my own birthday present. It's apparently a tradition of some sort with them, that you choose your own gift when you come of age."

Snape was silent for a moment, then, "Have you in some way earned the other birthday presents you receive each year? Or the Christmas gifts?"

"No," Harry said again. "But I have just as much trouble accepting those. I'm no less appreciative, I just…I don't understand the _concept_ of giving without expecting something in return."

"Do you only give when it benefits you?" Snape asked.

"No…well, yes, actually," Harry said, furrowing his brow. He smirked when Snape looked at him for the first time. "No one gives without getting something in return. Call me a cynic, but I really believe that. Everyone either gives out of a sense of obligation, real or imagined, or because it makes them feel good to do so. Either way, the act of giving benefits the giver as much spiritually as it does the receiver physically."

"You're a cynic," Snape said with a smirk of his own. Harry couldn't help a small chuckle. "If that is how you view it, Potter, then I credit you for your insights. However, the principle applies to you as much as it does everyone else. You give to feel good. It makes the Grangers feel good to give to you. If you have no moral or ethical reason to deny them this, then why would you want to?"

Harry frowned. "Because it makes me uncomfortable?" He offered.

"I'm sure it makes your friends of lesser means uncomfortable when you buy them expensive presents. You cannot help that it makes them uncomfortable, that they feel guilty when they cannot buy you things as nice as you give them, but you do it because it makes you feel good. You would feel bad if your friends suddenly refused your gifts. Why, then, would you ask of the Grangers to not give to you, just because it makes you slightly uncomfortable?" Snape pointed out, turning back to the path and park.

Harry frowned guiltily. "I hadn't thought of that. I suppose it makes sense." He sipped at his coffee for a moment as he thought of what Snape was trying to say. Finally he sighed, realizing the man was right. "I hate you sometimes."

"The feeling is mutual, Potter."

Harry didn't know why, but a small part of him doubted that that was entirely true anymore.


	13. Chapter 13

"Muggle."

"Muggle."

"Squib."

"State your source," Harry teased. They had been at this game for a week, and never seemed short of joggers to call out. Except for the enlightening discussion about the Granger's generosity, conversation had been limited to their game. Harry didn't know what else could be said, and Snape didn't seem any more interested in starting a conversation, either. Until one day, he did.

Snape smirked. "I knew her mother in school, and still see them both on occasion. _She_ is a proud Squib, and a model in the Muggle world. She moved here last year."

Harry grinned. "That's cheating."

"It's my neighborhood, Potter," Snape explained. "You can't expect me not to know at least _some_ of the people who live here."

The Gryffindor shrugged. "Fair enough." He turned back to the path, but the next pair that passed were walkers they had already played with. Silence reigned for a moment as the track remained clear after them.

"Why are you here?" Snape asked suddenly.

Harry eyed the man over his coffee. He didn't know what the Potions Master expected him to say. Finally, he shrugged. "It beats sitting around Hermione's, studying or watching telly. Plus I'm trying to stay in shape."

"Admirable," Snape murmured into his coffee. It was the closest Harry had ever heard the man come to complimenting him. "However, I was not referring to the park, nor even this bench. Why are you in the Muggle world with Miss Granger?"

"Because my relatives don't want anything to do with me," Harry offered.

Snape narrowed his eyes, still watching the empty path. "Why aren't you with the Weasley's?" He growled impatiently.

Harry shrugged and started to pick at the lid of his coffee cup. "Do you want the short answer or the long one?" He asked. He didn't know why he was even contemplating telling Snape something so personal, but he found he was prepared to do precisely that. Perhaps it was the dreams, or their companionable morning coffee, or a combination of the two, but Harry already knew he was going to tell the man the truth.

Snape didn't answer, only turned on the bench to look at Harry properly. One leg folded over the other, and a pale hand gestured for him to speak. Harry sighed, frowning, and turned on the bench as well.

"The short answer is that Ron Weasley is an ass. I imagine you saw the article about me in the _Prophet_? The one talking about my…um…choice in lifestyle?" He began carefully. Snape gave a slow nod, his face impassive. "Well, that was my friend, Ron Weasley. He's…I don't know what he is, at least not in reference to me specifically, but in a general arc, I suppose you'd say he takes issue with homosexuality. He won't talk to me, so I couldn't tell you what about it he finds offensive, but I've gathered that he thinks it's wrong. Morally, philosophically, theologically…physically, or even emotionally, I don't know, but I know he thinks it's wrong. When I told my friends, he sort of went off, told me to stay away from him and basically ended our friendship. The next day the news of my sexual preferences was in the _Prophet_ , and there's no doubt in my mind about who their 'reliable source' was."

"Yet you still consider him your friend?" Snape asked, his face still impassive.

Harry shrugged. "Not really?"

"You said 'my friend, Ron Weasley'."

Harry scowled. "Well, maybe I do," He said a little petulantly. "Why shouldn't I? Hermione thinks I should give up on him, but I don't think that's fair. He's being an idiot, sure, but there's nothing to say he won't come around eventually. He may never come to accept my being gay, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends. We've been through a lot, and it doesn't make sense to let something like this tear us apart."

"It seems to me it's not you tearing the friendship apart," Snape offered solemnly. "Do you 'take issue' with your sexuality, Potter?"

"What?" Harry asked, looking up in surprise. "Of course I don't. I'm proud of who I am. But what's that got to do with anything?"

"You referred to it as your 'choice' in lifestyle," Snape pointed out. "And you're willing to ignore this vital part of yourself, should Weasley decide he values your friendship again. In my experience, it is not a choice, and not something you can simply set aside."

"I didn't mean that," Harry argued. "I never meant that I would be something else to get Ron's friendship back. I just meant that, should Ron decide he can ignore my sexuality, I can ignore the fact that he takes issue with it.

Snape scoffed and stood, tossing his coffee into the nearby bin. "It seems to me, Mister Potter, that you have a choice. You can be who you are, who you were born to be, or you can let your so-called friend decide that for you."

Harry scowled into his coffee as the man left. What did Snape know about his friendship with Ron? They'd been through worse scrapes than this, and their friendship had always survived, even after that fiasco with the thrice-damned Goblet of Fire. If it was in the redhead to one day forgive Harry his sexuality, then why shouldn't Harry forgive him his prejudice? It was, after all, such a small thing to fogive.

Angry and unsure, Harry finished his coffee and returned to the Granger's. He did not return to the park for two days, and each night he dreamt of horrors. The first night, he dreamt as he only seemed to, of Snape in some dire peril Harry couldn't save him from. On the second night, he dreamt of Snape again, but it was the dream that followed that sent him back to the park. In the dream, he and Ron were friends again, but their faces were twisted by hatred, and they were torturing Neville for his homosexuality. He returned to the park with the hope that doing so would stop all his nightmares, including this newest which had scared him more than any he had ever had previous.


	14. Chapter 14

Neither of them had spoken. They had already done their jog, and had gotten their coffees. They'd been sitting on the bench for a few minutes now, and Harry waited for Snape to say something of his absence. When the man finally did speak, it was with veiled curiosity that Harry decided he didn't want to address.

"You've been gone."

"I came back."

This was all that passed between them as they watched the joggers, hoofers, and dog walkers for more than an hour. Harry fought with himself not to explain his absence, or his return, and he wondered if Snape struggled similarly not to question either. It was anger, righteous anger, that kept Harry from speaking. In the time since he had woken from his dream about Ron, he'd convinced himself that it was Snape's fault for planting the idea of self-disdain in his head. He couldn't let himself believe that he might be really capable of turning his back on himself, and the homosexual community, for the sake of a friendship he was no longer sure he wanted.

When they parted ways that morning, Harry wondered what had come of their animosity. When had it become okay for Snape to advise him? They weren't friends, and six years of schooling had taught Harry that they never would be. _Couldn't_ be, given that Snape despised him for who is father was, and that Harry hated him as much in return. The nagging question Harry found he couldn't answer was _why_ he hated Snape. In years past, it had been a simple answer: Snape was a cruel, sadistic, loathsome bastard. Only now, in the Muggle world, he wasn't. And even if he had been, it no longer seemed reason enough for something so strong as hate. Malfoy was as much a sadistic little prick, and much more often than Snape ever had been, and Harry hardly hated him; he thought he was an obnoxious puke, but he didn't _hate_ him. So what about Snape had caused such a harsh reaction? And why was he suddenly finding it hard to hang onto?

Harry pondered these things for the next several days. Each morning he would meet the man in the park. More than once, he thought to voice these questions, but…how did you ask a man what it was about him you hated? He certainly wasn't confused enough to query the sudden _lack_ of hatred. Eventually, Harry gave the questions up as hopeless. It was not the first time he had questioned himself so strongly, and he doubted it would be the last. Instead, he pushed the questions to the back of his mind, where they would answer themselves in time, as they always did. In the meantime, there was nothing wrong with companionable silence over coffee. What _else_ was he going to do with his summer?


	15. Chapter 15

Harry had grown so accustomed to his days at the Granger's, and especially his morning routine with Snape, he forgot that it would all come to an end eventually. He hardly remembered that there was a whole other world, waiting for them to return to it. He hardly remembered that they had ever been anything else to each other. Until one day, he did.

"How are Miss Granger's cooking lessons going?" Snape asked suddenly.

Harry was so surprised that he almost choked on his coffee. He looked at the man slyly. "You _were_ listening." He accused, thinking of when he'd first mentioned the lessons, back before their companionable mornings over coffee had begun. That seemed a lifetime ago, with the end of summer fast approaching at only two weeks away.

Snape turned slightly on the bench with his arm over the back, the picture of nonchalance. "Obviously, but that doesn't answer the question."

Harry smiled and turned slightly as well. "They're going okay. She's a quick study, as you know. The only problem seems to be keeping her focused. The marvel of the egg-timer has saved our bacon more than once, figuratively and literally. I feel like it'd be easier if I could press the importance of cooking. Schoolwork is important for success, reading everything in sight is important for helping in schoolwork…and keeping us alive in some cases. I just have to find something that impresses on her how necessary cooking is. It's not that she doesn't have the imagination, she just doesn't seem to want to apply it. And Merlin forbid if I try to do anything not in the recipe."

"I see," Snape murmured quietly. "Have you tried explaining that she'll have to cook for herself after she leaves home?" Snape asked, drinking his coffee.

Harry nodded. "Yup, but she then spent a half hour patiently explaining that there were _spells_ that could do the cooking for her."

"I see," Snape repeated. He was silent for a long moment, and then, "Make her use her wandless magic to create. There's nothing to be done about her obsession with the recipe except to stop her looking at it altogether, but using the magic she seems so eager to rely on will either teach her the value in cooking without magic, or force her to improve her wandless spells."

"That's brilliant," Harry said, grinning. "I'd never have thought of that, or even stopping her looking at the recipe."

Snape shrugged and they turned as one to watch the path and park again.

After a long moment, Snape spoke. "I return to the school tomorrow."

Harry frowned at the sense of hesitancy in the statement. "Really?" He asked.

Snape gave a stiff nod, straightening. "Yes. I will not return here until next summer."

Harry suddenly understood that this was meant to be a stiff, uncomfortable goodbye. He stood, tossing his half-finished coffee. He _loathed_ goodbyes, and this was no exception. Especially since he'd thought he had another week, at least, to sit with the taciturn man in affable relief. The Gryffindor stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"I guess I'll see you at the school, then." He walked off before anymore could be said.

His walks with Snape were over. Harry was unclear about the feeling that clenched at his heart. Why should he care about missing out on his morning jog and coffee with his least liked professor? It was, after all, such a small thing.

 _-Break-_

Harry was doing hanging sit-ups on the low bar when it happened. He hadn't seen Snape again for five days, though he looked for him every morning out of habit. On the down swing, he saw him. Black eyes stared at him across the vast expanse of lawn. Snape was on the other side of the path, leaning almost nonchalantly against a tree. He was simply watching him, that coal gaze translating across the distance even though Harry couldn't really see his eyes.

Harry pulled back up and grabbed the bar, sliding his legs easily over it and dropping to the grass. He picked his shirt up off the ground, but when he turned to find Snape again, he was gone. Harry immediately began to question his own sanity. Snape was at Hogwarts, and he had no reason to be back at the park. He especially wasn't going to come just to watch his least-liked student workout in the summer sun. Shaking his head, Harry returned to his workout. The nagging feeling that he was being watched persisted, and he kept a weather eye for the Potions Master. He didn't see him again, and when he went back to Hermione's, he decided he had indeed lost his mind, if only temporarily.


	16. Chapter 16

Rain beat against the windows of the Granger house. Its lone occupant sat reading by the light of a dim lamp, the rest of the house dark save for the sodden grey light that crept through the rain washed windows. The sound of the wet weather outside was the only sound to be heard.

Harry jumped slightly as thunder and lightning crashed through the house, rattling the windows and brightening the sitting room remarkably. He chuckled at himself.

"S'what I get for reading horror stories in a rain storm," He muttered.

Hermione had gone to work with her parents, thanks to their receptionist getting a flat tire. She was sitting in for her, having helped around their office since she was small. This had left Harry alone, and after finding that daytime television was not his cup of tea, he'd chosen a book at random from the full shelves in the sitting room. It had been too wet to attempt his ritualistic sweat sacrifice this morning, and he was restless as the clock on the wall rolled over to the afternoon.

Harry tried to return to his book, which he was actually enjoying immensely, when a knock came at the door. With a groan, he slipped a bookmark into the book and set it aside, getting up from the chair he'd been lounging in. Before he made it all the way to the door, there came a second knock. He pulled the door open to reveal the last person he'd ever expected. Snape stood on the other side, drenched and without a coat. The Gryffindor immediately stepped out of the way.

"Snape, what the hell are you doing out in this?!" Harry questioned as Snape took a few shuddering steps into the house. He closed the door. "Geez, you're soaked." Harry thought frantically of what to do. "Take off your shirt before you catch your death, I'll get a towel."

Receiving no argument from the half-drowned Potions Master, Harry took off to the upstairs bathroom. He grabbed a guest towel from the linen pantry and came back downstairs to his professor. Snape had made no progress on getting his shirt off, his trembling fingers fumbling still with the tiny top button. Harry set the towel down and approached.

"Here, let me," He mumbled.

Snape's fingers fell away as Harry set about unbuttoning his shirt. The buttons were slick because they were wet, and Harry struggled slightly. He glanced up at Snape, whose lank black hair hung limply around his face, dripping rivulets of water on the soaked chest and shoulders of his shirt. Finally, he found a rhythm with the buttons, and looked down again as he methodically pulled them loose from their holes. Halfway down the shirt, he was stopped by a slow, unexpected kiss. His head shot up, and he stared in shock into the ebony gaze. Buried in the fathomless dark eyes was hesitant desire. And then Snape was kissing him again, frozen fingers cupping his jaw.

Harry closed his eyes, returning the kiss fervently. Snape's breaths shuddered, though Harry doubted it was entirely the cold, as nimble Seeker's fingers made quick work of the last few buttons, pulling the shirt free of wet, black trousers. The older wizard shucked the shirt off his shoulders before burying his fingers in Harry's hair and drawing him closer. Harry touched the thin, muscular abs, drawing a moan from his companion. Trembling fingers moved from his hair and began working at his own shirt, pulling the tiny, flat baubles free of their prison. When Snape reached his trousers, he forewent untucking the shirttails and forcibly pushed the shirt off of Harry's shoulders, trapping his arms near to his sides. Harry reached out with his limited grasp and dug his fingers into the waist band of the Potions Master's pants, drawing their bodies together. Their bare-naked chests clashed together like ships passing in a storm, and now it was Harry who moaned into the kiss. He felt a hardness that answered his own burning like a hot stone against his stomach.

Snape pulled out of the kiss and gently urged Harry to lift his chin with a firm thumb. Sharp teeth nipped a trail over his jaw. Devilishly erotic lips touched the sensitive skin behind his jaw and that devilishly erotic voice breathed against his ear.

"Harry…"


	17. Chapter 17

The Boy Who Lived awoke with a start as thunder crashed outside. As he lay back against his pillows, his dream already seemed far and fuzzy. He remembered that he'd been snogging someone, but the 'who' slithered out of his grasp before he could draw it to the fore. A hot palm scrubbed at his face in annoyance. He rarely had these types of dreams, and it was even rarer that he remembered who they were about. Groaning in frustration, he sat up on his bed. Crookshanks meowed from the foot of the mussed blankets and stretched languidly.

Taking a note from the cat, Harry stretched his body, groaning again as he received several satisfying pops for his effort. When he'd stretched all he could, he stood from the bed and began to dress. It was still pouring rain, as it had been since late yesterday afternoon, so he forewent his workout clothes and dressed in black slacks and a lavender shirt Violet had chosen. He vaguely recalled the shop assistant agreeing that it was a surprisingly good color on him, but he hadn't worn it yet this summer. The only reason he chose it now was because he wanted to look good for his visit to Gringotts. The Grangers had decided that they would go today to buy his and Hermione's school things, had already scheduled the day to close their practice. More specifically, they had agreed to take Harry and Hermione to Diagon Alley and make themselves scarce so as not to embarrass the adult witch and wizard.

Padding downstairs, his feet freezing, Harry paused in the front hall. Had this spot somehow featured in his dream? He couldn't be sure, but he thought it might have. With a shrug, he continued on to the kitchen and saw that everyone else was already awake. Hermione smiled in greeting over her coffee as her parents discussed some business in the Muggle newspaper. As had become routine, Harry walked over to the cupboard and pulled down his usual mug, filling it with coffee that he immediately cooled to drinking temperature.

"Good morning, Harry," Violet said, noticing him as she turned from the stove.

Harry smiled. "Good morning, Mrs. Granger."

The woman 'tsked' good-naturedly. "A whole summer of this 'Missus' business. I don't think you ever slipped even once."

Harry chuckled. "No, ma'am."

Violet looked playfully affronted. "Oh, it's 'ma'am' now, is it? I will have you know that I am not old enough to be considered a 'ma'am' just yet."

"If you ask the First Years, _Hermione's_ old enough to be a ma'am," Harry said pointedly.

Hermione groaned. "Yes, they seem to think so. And it is really annoying."

Harry grinned as he sipped his coffee. "Maybe if you didn't boss them so much."

Hermione tossed a small piece of toast at him, which he immediately tossed back. Jack chuckled.

"Now we're reduced to food fights? What have we come to?"

Harry and Hermione both chuckled appreciatively, but left off the toast as Violet came to the table with plates of breakfast. Harry discovered he was actually hungry and began to eat as soon as everyone had their plates and were seated. He paused as he caught Hermione making a face at him, and he made one back. They both giggled under the watchful eyes of her parents.

"Adults in the Wizarding World, are you?" Violet asked with false primness. "Perhaps a bit too young, I think."

Harry chuckled, poking his eggs. "No one ever accused the Ministry of Magic of being _smart_."

"Besides, it's only that way because we reach our majority in our seventeenth year," Hermione said with real primness. "You remember, Harry got really sick the day before his birthday. I hit my majority while we were at school last term, and it made me bedridden most of the day."

"Yes, I think you explained that before," Violet said. "Anyway, did you make sure you know where the key is to that vault we set up for you at Greenblotts?"

Hermione nodded. "It's Gringotts, and I never really lost the key. It was just…temporarily misplaced."

Violet nodded with a knowing smile. "Yes, Gringotts." Harry froze as she turned to him. "Harry, do you need any help getting your school things?"

"Uh, no, thank you, Mrs. Granger," He said apologetically. "My parents and godfather have provided well for me."

Luck was on his side as Violet nodded and returned to her breakfast. Unfortunately, Jack did not seem as easily convinced. The look in his eye as he watched Harry across the table said he planned to give him some money anyway. Harry had come to know and hate this look. Obviously, he planned to refuse. Even if this wasn't one of those occasions Hermione had mentioned were an exception, he would still refuse. It wasn't right, morally, to take money from anyone in the Wizarding World when he was more than taken care of financially. Over the summer it had been different, since he'd had no access to his vaults and was more broke than Ron Weasley, but in the Wizarding World he was reasonably wealthy. And Snape _had_ all-but said that moral dilemmas were an acceptable exception.

 _-Break-_

"Damn, your dad is _pushy_ ," Harry said angrily, pushing the fifty pound note he'd been given into Hermione's hands. "Put it in your vault, I don't want it. Hell, if I thought you'd accept I'd give you all the money I have left that your parents have given me this summer."

"Well, I _wouldn't_ accept, so don't," Hermione said, putting the money in her pocket. "I am sorry about my dad. I should've mentioned that he doesn't like to be told 'no' when he's trying to give to others. It's one of his few failings."

"Kind of a big one that you might've mentioned sooner," Harry growled as they walked into the alley behind The Leaky Cauldron. He tapped the necessary bricks and they waited for the gateway to open completely.

"I said I was sorry," Hermione said sulkily.

Harry sighed and looked at her. "I know, and I'm sorry for snapping at you. I'll meet you at Fortescue's for lunch?" They'd agreed to shop separately, since Harry didn't know how long the bank would take.

Hermione brightened slightly and nodded. "You have yourself a date, Mister Potter. Come on. We've both got to go to Gringotts first." They linked arms and walked into Diagon Alley, which was thankfully dry and sunny.


	18. Chapter 18

When Harry had done at Gringotts, he moved further to the back of the Alley. His wallet had the brand new addition of a gold card that was useful in both worlds, the Wizarding equivalent of a Muggle bank card. In actuality, it _was_ a bank card, but the Goblin who had been executor of his estate had rattled off some ridiculous name for it that Harry was pretty sure had been half Gobbledygook. He'd also been given a book of bank notes that would stop him having to carry so much gold around. The bank card and checkbook had come with a whopping pile of responsibility, as the meeting had been the Goblin informing him of his estate and holdings, and then signing said things over to him entirely.

Deciding to begin his shopping at the Apothecary, as it was nearest, and work his way back towards the start of the Alley, Harry made his way to the out-of-the-way shop that almost bordered Knockturn Alley. As he stepped inside, a small bell tinkled over the door. The counter, within eyesight of the doorway, spoke distantly.

"Welcome," The counter, or rather someone ducked behind it, said. "Let us know if you need help finding anything." This statement was followed promptly by the aging proprietor straightening and moving behind a door at the back, removing himself from helping distance.

Harry chuckled at the oddity he'd come to associate with the Wizarding World and started to browse the aisles of ingredients. His cauldron was still in good form, but he was low on some things. He pulled a list out of his pocket, drawing it from the grasp of his school letter, and unfolded it. A voice behind him made him pause as he looked through his list for the ingredients he needed.

"I did not think you were in Potions this year, Mister Potter."

The Gryffindor turned with a blush, tucking his school letter into his pocket, to see Snape standing behind him. "I'm not," He admitted. "But I still need some ingredients. It's always good to have the basics for emergencies. Having the stuff to make healing potions means I won't spend half the year in the Hospital Wing."

Snape smirked. "An admirable sense of preparedness. Do not let me stop you, Mister Potter."

Harry half-turned, turned back to say what, he didn't know, then turned around again and began looking at his list. He moved through the aisles, filling the available jars with the ingredients he needed and placing them in a basket from the front of the shop. He was uniquely aware of Snape following him through the shop, but didn't know what to say. Finally, as he was stopped and deciding if really _needed_ more wormwood, Snape spoke.

"Lavender suits you. How did it go with the executor?"

The question was so soft Harry hardly heard it. He looked up and realized the clerk had returned to the desk. At first, he thought the Potions Master was referring to his fellow Gryffindor, but he smiled appreciatively when he remembered the shirt he'd chosen for his bank meeting. He spoke just as softly, still staring at the ingredients in front of him but no longer seeing them.

"Thanks. It was…terrifying."

"How so?"

"Turns out _I'm_ now the executor of my estate. Now that I know exactly what that entails, I have no idea what I'm going to do. I may not be as rich as the Malfoys, but that's still an awful lot of money and property to put solely in the hands of a seventeen year old," Harry explained, furrowing his brow. "Do I need wormwood?"

A glance revealed Snape's smirk back in place as the man pretended to browse slightly down the aisle from him. "It's useful in most antidotes. So, knowing you, absolutely." A pause as Harry filled a jar with the dark roots, then, "You can return to Gringotts and ask to speak with a bank manager. They'll accommodate you, considering the Potter fortune you've inherited, and you can then ask to be assigned an estate manager. Or you can hire one yourself, but I don't recommend that for someone as trusting as you are. It's not quite an executor, you'll still be in charge of all final decisions, but they'll field the majority of the petty day-to-day nuisances; such as the people seeking a hand-out that you mentioned on your birthday."

"Well, that's useful information the Goblins could have given me while I was there," Harry muttered darkly. "Thanks."

Snape gave a slow nod. "I will see you at the school, Mister Potter."

Harry watched curiously as the man left without buying anything. He wondered idly if Snape had somehow been waiting for him, but tossed the thought aside. How could the man have known he would come to the apothecary at all, since he wasn't in Potions? It was possible he'd followed Harry in, but since Harry hadn't heard the bell he dismissed that as well. And never mind how ludicrous the idea of Snape waiting for _him_ was, it simply didn't make sense. He _couldn't_ have known Harry would come here, and certainly couldn't have ensured he'd be alone.

Finished with his shopping, and wondering why he kept making so much of Snape's presence, Harry went to the counter. Whether accidental or coincidental, it didn't matter. He'd offered up better advice than anyone else might have. Despite his misgivings about returning to Gringotts, certain it would come with more difficult decisions, Harry knew that was his next stop. He couldn't possibly be expected to manage his estate wholly on his own, and it wasn't as if he had parents to turn to in moments of doubt. A manager sounded like it was just the ticket he needed.

 _-Break-_

The return to Gringotts in search of a manager had indeed been filled with further decisions. He'd been assigned the most personable Goblin, by far, that he'd ever met, though, and it had made things run remarkably smooth. Seeming to sense his discomfort with the entire situation, the Goblin, Pellish, had limited his decisions to a monthly allowance (that wound up far exceeding his needs), and a tentative agreement on how to handle charitable requests. These apparently always came with the inheritance of old money. The rest, Pellish had said, could wait until it needed to be addressed. That was, after all, what the owl post was for.

Harry met Hermione at the ice cream shop for lunch, where they each ordered dishes drowned in sugar. Except for coffee and cereal, sugar was one of the few things the Grangers disapproved of, and Harry was glad to have some after a full summer almost entirely without. They chose a table outside, basking in the sunlight, since there was little of it back at the house. Harry was immensely grateful, as they sat down, that the rain had yet to touch London.

"How much of your shopping did you get done?" Hermione asked, digging into her ice cream.

Harry shrugged. "Not much at all," He said, poking at his own treat. "The bank took longer than I'd hoped, and I had to go back, which took even longer. I've still got to get my books, owl treats, and my robes. I was thinking of going to Gladrags this year, since I can apparently afford it now, but…Madame Malkin's always done my robes, and I trust her not to make me look like a peacock. Plus, there's really no point in spending so much on robes I won't wear again after this term. Also, I promised Fred and George we'd stop by there shop while we're here."

Hermione nodded, licking her spoon clean. "Well, I've done everything but my robes, so maybe I'll just join you and we can go together. Where do you want to go first?"

"Flourish and Blotts," Harry answered immediately. "I want to get my school texts, obviously, but I also want to look and see if they have anything else I might be interested in. Defense, maybe, or even some fiction."

Hermione smirked over her ice cream. "Reading for the sake of doing so? Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter?"

Harry chuckled appreciatively. "Hey, I can read if I want. I found I liked it, spending the summer with you. Besides, there's something else…I think I was reading in a dream."

Hermione giggled as Harry started to eat his own ice cream. "Now you're _dreaming_ about reading? What _have_ I done to you? Exercise, healthy eating habits, reading…the others will think I've switched you out with Polyjuice."

"I think it's called personal growth, and I've done a lot of that this summer," Harry said a little proudly. "Anyway, you've-"

"Harry, is that Snape?"

The Gryffindor shifted to look where she was staring. It was indeed the Potions Master. He was casually browsing a selection of fresh herbs in front of a shop not far from Fortescue's patio. Snape glanced up and black met green through the Alley's milling crowd. Before Harry could make anything of it, the man turned and started walking down Diagon Alley with his back to them. Harry turned back to his ice cream.

"Yup."

Hermione furrowed her brow, still staring after their dark professor. "You know, seeing him from this angle…I guess that man in the park _did_ look an awful lot like him." She turned back to Harry. "Did you ever see that man again? You were there practically every day."

Without knowing why, the Savior of the Wizarding World lied to his best friend. "I saw him once or twice."

" _Was_ it Snape?"

"I think I would've told you if it had been," Harry said, not looking up. If he looked up, his eyes would give him away, as they always did.

He couldn't even begin to contemplate what had inspired him to keep his morning meeting with the man a secret, or what was causing him to lie now. Something, though, said he should keep to himself what had transpired on those warm mornings over coffee. Hermione persisted.

"But what if it was Snape?" She asked. "Wouldn't that be odd, that I lived so close to a wizard, a teacher no less, my whole life and didn't know it? Makes me wonder what his house would be like. Would he live with Muggle means, or Wizarding? Ooh, or a combination of both, like at Grimmauld."

Harry smirked into his ice cream as he recalled his and Snape's game on the bench. It would boggle his friend's mind, if she knew how many witches and wizards lived in her neighborhood. He couldn't say this, though, without mentioning his secret mornings.

"I dunno, maybe…I don't really want to talk about Snape, or how he lives outside of Hogwarts," The Wizarding Savior said, clearing his throat.

Hermione sighed. "Sorry, I was just thinking out loud. I know you hate him."

"I don't, actually," Harry said before he could stop himself. He cleared his throat again when his friend gave him an odd look. "I've decided not to hate Snape. I can't help who my prat of a father was, nor that he hates me for it, but I can make the choice not to share in his prejudice. No point in adding fuel to the fire."

Hermione stared at him in surprise. "Wow, I guess you have done a lot of growing up this summer. So, if you don't hate him, why won't you talk about him?"

"Because I don't see the point. Neither of us knows anything about him, Hermione, so guessing about how he _might_ live, _if_ he lived in the Muggle World, near you or not, is pointless," Harry said.

Hermione sighed, but nodded. "That's true. And even if you don't hate him, I guess he'd still be a sore subject, considering what he's said to you over the years." She looked down the Alley to where Snape had been. "Oh, he's gone. Must've gone into a shop or something."

Harry shrugged, but didn't turn to look. The feeling of being watched was making the hair on his neck stand up, but he chose not to acknowledge that either. He poked at his ice cream, which was beginning to melt in its glass bowl.

"We'll see him at the school."


	19. Chapter 19

Harry did indeed see Snape upon his return to the school. For three weeks he saw him at the Head Table, and randomly in the corridors. He did _not_ speak with the man, nor did the Potions Master make an effort to speak to him. The return to the school seemed to herald a return to old habits, as they were as dismissive of one another as they had ever been for. Snape, as much as Harry, did not seem prepared to address the summer's strange camaraderie. Until one day, he did.

Harry awoke to an owl tapping at the window near his bed. He got up a little reluctantly, noting that it was still a while before sunrise, and moved to let the insistent bird in. Neville, who had involuntarily switched beds with Ron at the start of the year, stirred.

"What is it?" The boy grumbled groggily.

Harry shushed him. "Go back to sleep." He didn't know for sure who the owl was meant for, but he saw no reason to rouse any of his dorm mates. The owl would likely give up it's burden to him, and he could place it on the necessary nightstand to wait for a more reasonable hour.

"M'kay, Harry." Neville rolled over and fell immediately back to sleep.

Harry opened the window and the Eagle Owl fluttered in, dropping the note it had clenched in its beak on top of Harry's ruffled bedding before alighting on top of his four-poster and surveying the room. Harry picked up the note and frowned at the short message.

 _Coffee?_

The Gryffindor thought of the morning ritual he'd established with the Head of Slytherin over the summer. A part of him wondered petulantly if he should even reply, since they had hardly spared one another a side-long glance since his return to the school. The rest of him knew that he had been just as contemptuous of the Potions Master when they passed silently in the corridors. He grabbed the self-inking quill he kept near his bedside and flipped the torn piece of parchment to its blank side.

 _Sure._

He held the note out to the Eagle Owl above him. It was quickly snatched up in the sharp beak. Harry turned to getting dressed as the owl swept back out of the window. He found the workout clothes from his time at Hermione's and pulled them on. By the time he'd done cinching his tennis shoes, the owl had returned with a reply.

 _Front steps._

Harry pocketed the missive and dug an owl treat out of his trunk. He gave the bird the treat before tip-toeing out of the dorm room as quietly as possible. Even in the empty common room, he continued to walk quietly towards the portrait. It was still early enough that the House Elves hadn't come yet to relight the fire in the massive grate, and without it the Tower had an eerie, deserted feel. He opened the portrait carefully, moving slowly so as not to wake the sleeping Fat Lady in her frame, and closed the portrait just as softly. As soon as the entrance was shut tight, he made for broke down the corridor, his footfalls echoing in the silent, grey light of the castle before dawn. The moving staircases, he was pleased to find, were much more cooperative without anyone else to pull at their magic, and he soon found himself on the marble steps in the Entrance Hall. Thinking himself home free, Harry froze when he heard an accusatory meow behind him just as he stepped off the last marble stair. He turned, praying to see McGonagall's animagus form, and saw Filch and his cat standing idly by the main entrance to the dungeons. He groaned. Didn't the man ever _sleep_?

"Well, look what we have here, Mrs. Norris. A student out of bounds."

Harry swallowed thickly. "I, uh…" What could he say? Snape's note was still in his pocket, but it wasn't as if he'd signed his name. It would make for a lame excuse, and Harry knew it.

Filch _tsked_ delightedly. "You are in trouble now, Mist-"

"Potter."

Filch turned sharply, and Harry looked to see Snape climbing the last steps from the dungeons. Harry wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or not. Neither note had said anything about not getting caught, but Harry knew Snape was the sort to simply expect compliance without instruction. He watched with trepidation as Snape approached them. Onyx eyes eyed him carefully, and Harry straightened in defiance.

"I've caught Potter out of bounds, Professor. Apparently, this one thinks he's too good for the rules."

Snape turned from staring at Harry to sneer at the waifish caretaker. "Potter is here at my behest."

Filch looked understandably stunned. "But, Professor, the rules-"

"Do not apply to professors, and may be circumvented by students with permission," Snape interrupted pointedly. "You may go, Mister Filch."

The caretaker looked disappointed at missing a chance to have a student punished. He sent Harry a dark glare before walking past Snape to the dungeons. Harry frowned as Snape joined him, and together they moved towards the grand doors at the other end of the Entrance Hall.

"Thanks," The Gryffindor murmured uncomfortably.

Snape grunted and drew his wand. With a silent flick, the intricate lock on the doors began to disengage. Harry watched as gears and cogs moved and clicked. When the last bolt had slid free of it's chamber, Snape stepped forward and pushed one giant wing open. Harry followed hastily as the door tried to swing shut again. He shivered in the cool predawn air. The sun was only now making it's final push towards the reddening horizon, lightening the rest of the sky to a ghostly, silver hue.

"Cold?" Snape asked in his silky baritone.

Harry nodded, hugging his arms as another, sharper shiver arched up his spine. "Mm-hm."

Snape snapped his fingers. With a small 'pop', a House Elf appeared with a burnished silver tray carrying two mugs of coffee. Snape took the burdensome cups, and the Elf popped away again with a snap of its own fingers. Harry took the plain black mug he was offered and let the heat warm his hands as he blew on the hot black liquid within. He followed as Snape started down the steps. The Potions Master waited for him at the bottom, and together they walked further out onto the grounds of Hogwarts.

They were both silent and contemplative for a time, but as they neared the Black Lake, Harry spoke.

"I got a manager," He started carefully. "He made it clear that I still have a lot of responsibilities regarding my dual inheritance, but…it's easier with help. Easier knowing I have someone who knows what they're doing if I get lost or stuck."

"I am pleased that you took my advice," Snape said evenly.

Harry smiled. "I'd have been a dunderhead if I hadn't."

He grinned when Snape smirked at him. "You said it, Mister Potter, not I."

Harry kept his silence for a short time as they walked the edge of the lake's rocky beach.

"So," He said at last. "What is it that teachers do in the two weeks before term that they have to cut their holiday short?"

The smirk remained. "Admittedly, not much," Snape answered honestly. "It is mostly boring staff meetings where we cover the same material we cover every year, rope memorization of the 'banned items' list, and reviewing the same lesson plans we've used since we began teaching. And, in the event that they arrive when they're meant to, we meet any new hires, such as Miss Ailin Achesan, your Defense professor. Certain responsibilities become easier over the years, leaving most of the two weeks as time to carouse around the castle; specifically, memorizing the 'banned items' list has become easier in recent years, ever since the Weasley twins put an umbrella name over their products."

Harry chuckled, imagining his strict, astringent professors doing any sort of 'carousing'. "Well, since it's made life easier for the professors of Hogwarts, I guess I can't feel _too_ guilty for funding the twins' shop."

"So it _was_ you," Snape accused lightly. "There's been some debate about that amongst the staff. Some believe they funded it with sales, others that one of their older brothers cosigned a loan. I laid my bet on you, and your winnings from the Triwizard Tournament, since the money vanished while you were in the Infirmary."

"Hit the nail on the head," Harry admitted amiably. "I didn't know what else I was supposed to do with the money. I certainly didn't need it, and I didn't want it, because it felt like blood money. After what I'd just witnessed, in the graveyard and in faux-Moody's office, I thought the world could use a few laughs on me."

Snape looked at him curiously. "You speak of that evening's horrors so easily. A lesser man would be terrified by the memory alone."

"Then I'd live my life in terror," Harry said, frowning. "I don't mean to sound like it doesn't still affect me. I'm haunted daily by everything I've witnessed over the years, but I don't let it get to me. I know that doesn't make sense, but it's the only way I know of how to put it. I try to leave the past where it belongs, and let myself revel in the life I witness from day to day. Call me self-serving, but I like to think I helped put some of that happiness there."

"Call you self-serving, Potter?" Snape repeated with a smirk. "I wouldn't dare."

They shared a sly look and Harry laughed openly, remembering the many times the Potions Master had called him that and worse. It felt good to really laugh, and when he'd settled he delighted in the silence that followed. It _had_ felt good to laugh, but it felt even better to laugh about something that should have torn apart their camaraderie. Despite how long Snape's verbal abuse had gone on, it seemed distant, like the memories belonged to someone else. The Snape with a sharp and biting tongue was not the man beside him, and nor was Harry the quick-tempered, distrusting brat he had been. It was a difference Harry felt deep in his bones, and he was unaccountably glad for it. In spite of all the responsibilities he'd inherited over the summer, it was _this_ realization that made him truly feel like an adult wizard.


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning, Harry awoke again to an owl tapping at the window in his dorm. This time, it was nearer to dawn, and the missive read _'Coming?'_ inquisitively. He was forced to rush through dressing, and raced through the castle faster than he had the morning previous. Even so, Snape was nearly to the dungeon entrance when he reached the Entrance Hall. That afternoon, Harry spent his free period in the Library, looking for an alarm spell. He eventually found one that would cause his wand to vibrate, rather than create lights or sounds that might wake his dorm mates. After having found it and tested it, Harry realized it was exactly like the spell the twins had used at the start of the summer, when they'd ambushed him on the platform. He added the casting of the spell to his nightly routine.

Without fail, he and Snape met every morning for over a month. Occasionally, they would even talk. Harry found out that Snape did not hate teaching as much as he projected in his classroom, and that the man slept less than even he did. They talked once or twice about their roles in the war, falling into the subject by accident but not shying from the topic when it came up. Harry discovered he quite liked hearing Snape talk, and made a point every few days to coax the man into some lengthy explanation about potions, or something equally long-winded, while hardly listening to a word of it.

With Halloween fast approaching, it was Neville Longbottom who unknowingly changed the game Harry was playing behind the backs of his friends. Harry had never noticed the looks of longing hazel eyes had sent his way, had in fact mistaken a few he had seen as looks of hunger or his usual nervousness. He never realized that Neville was, in fact, becoming infatuated with him. Until one day, he did.

The slightly taller boy, who had grown into his body nicely over the summer, approached Harry at breakfast a few days before the normally disastrous holiday, on the morning of their first trip to Hogsmeade. The nervous Gryffindor walked up to Harry, who was flanked by an empty seat on one side, and Hermione on the other, with his hands behind his back. It took a few moments for Harry to realize he was there.

"Hey, Neville," Harry said, taking notice of the boy standing beside the bench. "Talk about being late to the party. Sit down, I managed to save some bacon for you."

Neville did not sit, wavering slightly as their other friends turned to watch him a well. He cleared his throat several times before speaking.

"H-Harry, I wanted to ask…that is, if it's not too much trouble…W-would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

Harry frowned, smiling in confusion. "Neville, I don't understand. I thought we'd all agreed to go together, as a group?" He looked at his other friends questioningly. Dean and Seamus nodded in agreement, but Ginny rolled her eyes and Hermione actually smacked her forehead. Harry turned back to Neville when the boy spoke again.

"N-no, I mean…I wanted you to go _with_ me, if you, you know, wanted to."

Harry frowned now. "I'm afraid I still don't know what you mean." He jumped slightly as Neville brought his hands out from behind his back and shoved a vibrant, royal purple petunia nearly into his face. He stared at his least favorite flower as comprehension slowly dawned. "O-oh, _oh_ …" He said, taking the dark flower. He looked up into the nervous, hopeful gaze of his friend as he realized he was being asked out on a date, and turned back to the flower contemplatively.

Should he accept? This was _Neville_ , after all. They'd been friends since they were First Years, and this could end poorly. Still, there was no harm in it. A date, after all, was just that, and Neville was the sort not to take a rejection too badly, if the date didn't go well. But what if the date _did_ go well? Harry was unattached, but he wasn't sure if he was ready for that to change. Then again, why not? He hadn't exactly had a ton of other viable offers, and Neville was nice enough. He was certainly handsome, now that he'd grown into his girth and dropped the excess. Without knowing why, Harry glanced surreptitiously up at the Head Table. Snape was reading a book and eating distractedly, paying the rest of the Great Hall no mind.

Harry turned back to Neville, who was still standing nervously beside him. He smiled. "If I say yes, will you sit down? You're making _me_ nervous." Neville sat like a kicked dog, almost missing the bench.

"Sorry," The nervous boy mumbled, a deep blush suffusing his cheeks.

Harry sighed at the other Seventh Year endearingly. Why the hell not?

"Sure, Neville, I would love to go to Hogsmeade with you."

The grin that split across Neville's face was amazing, and it transformed his features remarkably, making his round face look as attractive as the rest of him. He leaned towards Harry, and Harry saw his intention immediately. He put a hand on the broad, thick chest, pushing him back slightly.

"We're not quite there," He said uncomfortably. The blush returned as Neville turned awkwardly on the bench to slide his long legs under the table. Harry looked at his other assembled friends. "You guys don't mind if Neville and I go to Hogsmeade separate from you, do you?"

His friends quickly dissented, grinning like loons.

For reasons Harry couldn't fathom, the boy beside him thanked him. Harry turned back to his breakfast, setting the flower aside and ignoring the grins on his friends' faces. A dark feeling he couldn't place stabbed at his chest, but he ignored that too. There was nothing wrong with a harmless date. It might even be fun.

 _-Break-_

Harry was not having as much fun as he'd hoped. Neville had grabbed onto his hand at some point on the walk down from the school, and had yet to release it. On top of this, Harry was unpleasantly surprised to find that his friend of seven years was a nervous talker. His voice shook terribly as he regaled Harry with talk of his summer, and the plants he'd been able to study thanks to his grandmother's connections. Harry could hardly get a word in edgewise, and after walking up and down the streets of Hogsmeade for over an hour, waiting for a chance to ask where his date wanted to go, he finally resorted to leading the other boy around to the various shops _he_ wanted to visit. Randomly, he would spot Snape in the street, as the man was chaperoning the trip, and would casually extract his hand from the sweaty, relentless grasp with a small pinprick of guilt. He thought perhaps it was shame that made him want to hide. Neville never seemed to notice, always re-instating the bothersome hand-holding after a short time.

After lunch, which they had spent with their other friends at The Three Broomsticks, where Neville had finally stopped talking, they were again wandering the streets. Harry still wanted to visit Honeyduke's, and the stationery shop, but had decided to walk off the heavy soup he'd enjoyed before attempting either. Neville was again talking, about what Harry didn't know, but stopped abruptly when they almost ran bodily into Malfoy and his cronies. The slightly taller boy stepped slightly behind Harry, and the Wizarding Savior squeezed the now-sweatier palm linked with his reassuringly. Malfoy noticed.

"On a date, Potter?" The Slytherin sneered.

Harry shrugged. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes."

The sneer deepened to disgust. "How pathetic are you? Famous Harry Potter, reduced to _pity_ dates from guys not even worth the air they breathe. That's just _pathetic_." Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly.

"You said that already," Harry pointed out calmly.

Malfoy's face screwed up in anger. "That's how pathetic it is, Scarhead. How does it feel to know the best you can get is a boy who can't even tie his own shoes without help?"

Harry shrugged again and mentally apologized to Pansy Parkinson, who was thankfully absent. "Feels a lot better than you, probably. Tell me, what's it like to know you can only get a date that your _daddy_ paid for in advance?"

Malfoy's response was immediate. He drew his wand, as did his cronies, pointing it at the Gryffindor duo. Students in the street were stopping now to watch the exchange.

"Take that back!" Malfoy demanded.

"Now, that would be lying," Harry chimed patronizingly.

He saw the spell coming even before Malfoy had finished casting, and flicked his wand into his thankfully empty hand, silently casting a shield that would absorb it without risking any bystanders. The spell, one that would have caused a concussive blast had it struck its intended target, dissolved harmlessly into his shield. Before Malfoy could cast again, their new Defense professor stormed through the gathered crowd.

"Enough!" She stepped in-between the dueling wizards and rounded on the Slytherin. "Malfoy, you are to return the school _immediately_. I will discuss with your Head of House what your punishment should be."

The blonde gaped. "Potter started it!"

Harry scoffed, but Achesan wasn't fooled. "I saw who started it, even watched you intentionally move to intercept Mister Potter. School, now, and anymore lip will see you in detention for a week. You can take your back-up singers with you."

Malfoy glowered at the professor for a moment, but even he knew when to bow out gracefully. He stormed off with his friends trailing quickly. He looked thunderous, and the other students leapt out of his path. Achesan turned to Harry, who straightened. He would take whatever punishment she handed out, knowing he had earned it.

The stern but pretty witch smirked. "Nice wand work, Mister Potter. Where did you learn that shield? Not in my class, it's too advanced."

"No, Ma'am," Harry said, still waiting for a rebuff. "Personal study."

Achesan smiled approvingly. "Well done, then, for making the effort, and for staying calm while defending your friend. You'll be losing House points, though, for baiting your pugnacious foe. Next time, try just walking away."

Harry nodded, knowing he would never do any such thing. "Yes, Professor. I'll keep that in mind."

The professor gave a stiff nod of approval before turning and walking off through the dispersing crowd. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, glad there was at least one professor who saw his side of things. If it had been McGonagall, he'd have gotten a detention for even being involved, no matter what he'd said. If it had been Snape, there was no doubt that he would've gotten several detentions, and Malfoy would've gotten a medal. It didn't matter how amiably they spent their mornings, Snape was still the Head of Slytherin, and still severely biased towards his House.

Harry winced as Neville started chattering at him again, thanking him for his defense before starting back where he'd left off before the confrontation. Looking for _anything_ to do that might shut his fellow Gryffindor up, he decided he would stop at Honeydukes before the stationery shop. He knew for a fact that the nervous boy had a monstrous sweet tooth that rivalled Ron's, and thought perhaps munching on licorice would put an end to the babbling flow. He headed off in that direction.


	21. Chapter 21

An hour or so later, Harry mentally groaned as Neville started talking _while_ picking at his purchase. The noxious smelling peppermint candy was doing nothing to slow or stop his speech, as he rattled off statistics about a rare plant he deeply wished he could study up close. They came to a stop when Neville started looking in the window of the broom shop they were passing.

"Remember when my broom went crazy, Harry? Back in First Year?"

Harry hummed. "Uh-huh," He agreed distractedly.

"Ooh, they've got an Athyrium thelypteroides in the window! You know, typically…"

Harry stopped paying attention as the boy launched into a lengthy explanation about the plant, still studying it through the window. Suddenly, beautiful, bell-like laughter echoed in the street, carrying over the sounds of the milling students. Harry looked for it's source, having never heard the laugh before, and spotted Achesan standing in front of the menagerie, laughing gracefully. She was with Snape, and Harry felt a spark of incomprehensible, white hot anger flair in his chest when she touched the Potions Master's arm very… _familiarly_. As he watched, the DADA professor leaned over to coo at a pet in the shop window, and Snape turned to gaze over the street. Ebony met emerald, and Harry turned suddenly to the boy clinging to his hand, drawing him into an insistent kiss.

It was uncomfortable, and almost painfully awkward, but Harry chalked that up to the fact that he'd interrupted the other Seventh Year mid-sentence. When the taste of peppermint, more noxious than the smell, became too much to bear, Harry pulled away. He looked immediately back down the street. A triumphant smirk darkened his features when he saw that Snape had vanished and Achesan was staring around as if she'd lost something. He turned back to Neville, satisfied, and frowned at the dazed, lovesick look on the thankfully silent boy's face.

Why had he done that? It didn't make any sense. The date was going fine, but it certainly wasn't worth a kiss. And what had that spark of anger been beforehand, or the pride that had followed? He had never felt anything like that before, and had no idea of how to catalogue it. He mentally tucked these questions into his 'answers will come' file, and then dismissed them. Dating was new and foreign, and he had nothing to go off of.

Even so, kissing Neville hadn't been horrible, awkwardness and flavoring aside. It had certainly been better than kissing Cho, his only point of comparison. For that matter, still in comparison, the date was going swimmingly. And, the kiss had served to shut the other boy up, for now. Suddenly feeling ill, Harry quickly led the way to the stationery shop. All of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than to return to Hogwarts and pretend that none of this had ever happened.

 _-Break-_

The next morning, Harry realized the full consequences of what he'd done. Snape had said nothing of the kiss during their walk, remaining stubbornly taciturn, but breakfast heralded a return of Neville's lovesick clinginess. Harry sat down at the table, completely unaware of what was to unfold. Before he had even finished spooning eggs onto his plate, he found a second dark purple petunia held out by the boy beside him. He set the spoon down and took the plant uncertainly.

"Uh, Neville," He started carefully.

"Yes, Harry?" His fellow Gryffindor said, staring at him with hopeful, ardent hazel eyes. A persistently sweaty palm slid into his.

Harry blushed under the scrutiny and glanced surreptitiously at his friends. They all knew about the kiss, as Neville had told them all with a fluttery, girlish need to gossip as soon as they'd returned to Hogwarts. So what was he going to say? If he turned the other boy down, they'd all, Hermione especially, want to know why he'd kissed him. And he didn't honestly have an answer for them, or even for himself. Besides, the date hadn't been _that_ bad, and there wasn't any harm in a little hand-holding, right?

He cleared his throat. "I, uh, need my hand," He said, extracting his fingers from his friend's grasp.

Neville immediately blushed and turned back to his own breakfast. Harry could feel his fellow Gryffindor staring at him out of the corner of his eye, and as soon as he'd done filling his plate his hand was tentatively grasped again. Seeing no reason to pull away again, Harry began to eat and simply allowed the contact. Unfortunately, the grasp persisted through the corridors for the rest of the day, Neville almost never leaving his side.

By the end of the day, they were established as a hot topic couple within Hogwarts. Harry found he didn't so much mind this, in spite of his misgivings. When the boy wasn't talking about plants, he was pleasant to be around, and his palm wasn't all _that_ sweaty. Harry still wasn't sure how he felt about being a couple, since being with Neville felt no different than when they'd just been friends, save the new aspect of the hand-holding, a minor thing really that he could probably get used to, but couldn't find reason enough to turn the boy away. And, it felt kind of nice to have someone interested in him romantically. Given the chance, he might even come to feel similarly.


	22. Chapter 22

A few days later, breakfast came with another surprise. It was enough that Harry seriously considered skipping the meal, and might have if it weren't for his walks with Snape. The morning exercise, no matter how leisurely done, left him starving afterwards. Coffee was hardly a substitute for real food.

Ron Weasley, the traitor, had hardly said a word to Harry since his declaration the year previous. Harry had felt his friend's absence sharply when they'd first returned on the train, but was now almost use to ignoring that Ron had ever been in the group. His other friends had no qualms over forgetting him. Ron, apparently, felt this absence as well. The redhead approached the space where Harry and his friends were eating. There was room for him to sit away from them, but instead he walked right up to them and stood just beyond Seamus. Harry looked at him suspiciously.

"Weasley," He greeted coldly. The others looked up curiously, but turned away from the newcomer just as quick. Even Ginny refused to acknowledge her brother.

"Potter," Ron replied. "I heard you and Neville were dating."

Harry nodded slowly, very aware of Neville's hold on his hand. "Yeah, we are."

Ron hesitated. "I…I'm happy for you." He said, shifting nervously. He paused. "Harry, I want to apologize for what I said last year. I'm a dolt, you know that. Can we be friends again?"

Harry was understandably surprised by the declaration, and had no idea of how to respond. He looked at his friends, but they each refused to meet his eye. The message was clear; this was his decision to make. Floundering, Harry looked up at the Head Table, desperately seeking out Snape. Onyx eyes bored into him from across the room, and he breathed a little easier. The memory of their discussion about this exact situation recurred to him, and he clung to the man's words. They weren't anything Hermione hadn't said, but Snape was an unbiased party. Then, flashes of the dream that had followed Snape's advice burned into Harry's mind. He unconsciously squeezed Neville's hand, reminding himself that he hadn't really done the horrible things he'd dreamed about, that that wasn't who he was.

The Wizarding Savior turned back to his would-be friend. Ron was sneering in disgust at his and Neville's clasped hands. It was this look, which the redhead immediately cleared from his face upon realizing Harry had returned his attention to him, that made the decision for him. He _wouldn't_ become the cruelty he'd glimpsed in his dream, and he wouldn't turn his back on who he was. Nor would he pretend that part of him didn't exist, even for a moment.

"No," Harry said clearly. Ron gaped at him. "I'm sorry, Ron. I don't want to be your enemy, but I can't be friends with you either. You hate a part of me that I can't change, wouldn't even if I could. That means that, in essence, you hate me, just for being who I am. I appreciate and accept your apology, but I won't follow you down the road of hatred, or let myself be close to it. If you can ever let go of your prejudice, you're welcome to be my friend again, but until you've truly accepted that homosexuality is not the bad thing you think it is, we can't be friends. I'm sorry."

The redhead scowled angrily. "Your loss, Fairy. Get bent."

Harry actually let himself chuckle as the taller boy stormed back down the table. "Already am," He called, making his friends chuckle as well. He turned back to his true friends a little bashfully. "Alright?"

"Absolutely," They each agreed.

Hermione touched his other hand, the one not in Neville's grip. "That was very adult of you, Harry. You handled it perfectly, and you did it on your own. I'm proud of you."

Harry smiled, hiding a twinge of guilt. Technically, he'd had help from the most unexpected source, but he could hardly say that. Extracting his hand and automatically swiping the sweat on his robes, he hugged his best friend. Even if he had had help, something he wasn't entirely sure was something he should actually feel guilt for, he was still proud of _himself_. It would have been too easy to fall back into old habits with his first friend, and he'd felt the desire to do so gnaw at him even as he'd refused. It was harder than any of his friends would ever know, to turn Ron away, but he'd done it anyway. That _was_ something to be proud of.

 _-Break-_

Later that day, as he and Neville were leaving Charms, the nervous Gryffindor pulled Harry to a stop with their clasped hands. Harry turned to him curiously.

"What's up? We're going to be late to Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Neville hesitated visibly. "I-I know, I just, I wanted to say something about this morning. I didn't really speak up earlier, because I was afraid to."

Harry frowned. "Okay," He said slowly. Had Neville disagreed with his handling of the situation?

"I…I wanted to say," Neville began apprehensively, not looking at him. "I-I'm proud of you, too, Harry. I can't imagine how hard that must have been for you."

The Wizarding Savior slumped in relief. "Oh, well…thanks, Neville, I appr-" He was cut off by an unexpected kiss, and he pulled away when his boyfriend tried to deepen it. "Neville!" He paused, glancing around, as the taller boy stared at him with deep hurt. "I-I'm sorry. I just…I'm not comfortable kissing in front of people."

Neville brightened, but still looked to be holding something back.

"Get it out," Harry urged with a sigh.

"I-it's just, um…is the cheek okay?" The boy asked hesitantly.

After a moment's thought, Harry nodded, not seeing the harm. Neville immediately placed a swift, wet kiss under his eye. The Wizarding Savior fought the urge to wipe the uncomfortable feel of saliva off his cheekbone, and turned instead to resume walking down the corridor. They made it to Defense just before Achesan closed the door, and Harry was somewhat grateful when they parted to find their seats. His was at the front of the room, with Hermione, but Neville had chosen a seat near the back, where he wouldn't be noticed. Thankfully, Achesan had announced at the start of term that these would be their assigned seats for the year, so the clingy Gryffindor wasn't able to move closer, as he had in their other classes.


	23. Chapter 23

Harry drew a deep breath and let it out as they drew close to the lake. When they'd started out, it was still mostly dark, the sun still miles from the horizon. Snape had summoned a small ball of light that bobbed over their heads, illuminating their every breath as it ghosted in front of them. Now, walking back from the gates, the ball of light had been banished and the sky was blushing lightly, as if ashamed of the clouds that would hide the sun when it broke the horizon.

"It's going to snow soon," The Gryffindor commented idly, sipping at the dregs of his coffee.

Snape hummed. "Earlier than normal. Do you-What is that?"

Harry looked up and saw the man staring at him with mixed amusement, curiosity, and what he thought might be a touch of disdain. He looked down at himself, lifting his arms. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He looked back up.

"What?"

Green eyes followed an obscenely long finger as it moved to his chest and lightly flicked the purple flower pinned to the front of his cloak. Harry glowered at the ridiculous blossom and picked it off of his chest. Neville had given him one every morning since they'd started dating, had even put a vase on Harry's bedside table to keep them in. He'd magically pinned this one to Harry's cloak just yesterday. The Gryffindor continued to glare at the small blossom for a moment before crushing it in his hand.

"I _hate_ petunias."

Snape smirked. "Why is that, I wonder?"

"My aunt _Petunia's_ stupid garden," Harry growled. "It was always my job to tend the damn prize-winning patch. Did I ever get credit for it, though? No! And if something happened to it, like an unpredictable rain shower over-watering it, or Dudley's friends tramping through it, I was punished like it was my fault! Let's see you go through 16 years of that and _not_ come out the other side hating flowers."

"You can't hate _all_ flowers," Snape scoffed.

Harry shrugged his shoulders up over his neck. "I can, and I do." He insisted petulantly.

" _Every_ flower?" Snape tried again, nudging him slightly.

Harry managed a half-smile as he slumped. "Alright, I _don't_ hate _all_ flowers. I like roses, I guess. Mrs. Figg used to cultivate Don Juans along her back fence. She wasn't always the best sitter, but she was better than my relatives. The smell of Don Juans still reminds me that my childhood wasn't _all_ bad."

Snape continued to smirk smugly, and Harry nudged him with his elbow.

"I take it Longbottom is unaware of your preferences?"

"No, I told him," Harry said. " _He_ just thinks that, since it's 'our special flower', I will change my mind. I don't have the heart to explain that it doesn't matter how special _he_ thinks it is, I just think it's a damned weed." He opened his hand and let the wind carry the mangled petals and stem away.

Snape didn't respond, and they completed their walk in silence.

 _-Break-_

The next day, Harry returned to his dorm to change for breakfast and found a gossamer black rose on his nightstand. There was no note with it, and when he picked it up the scent of a Don Juan wafted up at him. He smiled, twirling the long stem slowly in his fingers. A shiver crawled up his spine and his heart fluttered in his chest as he held the black petals to his nose. Then, Neville shifted on his bed, the first sign that he was waking, and Harry pulled the rose away guiltily. His heart was still fluttering, but he felt the cold prick of guilt. Green eyes stared at the vase on his table that held a half-dozen purple petunias. He didn't know much about relationships, but he knew enough to know that he should feel about the daily gifts from his boyfriend at least the same as he felt about the rose, if not more.

The other boys in the dorm started shifting sleepily out from under their blankets, and Harry placed the rose in amongst the flowers in his vase. He determinedly swept away his guilt. It was, after all, just a flower.

Neville rolled out of bed just as Harry moved away from his nightstand to finish dressing.

"Morning…Babe."

Harry smiled as he dug through his trunk for a clean shirt. He knew without looking that the other boy was blushing. The nickname was new, only a few days old, and Neville blushed every time he said it. It had come after an unfortunate attempt at 'Har', which Harry had immediately vetoed. Finding a shirt, he stood up and slipped it onto his shoulders.

"Morning, Nev," He said as the taller boy moved over to him.

"Morning, _Har-bear_ ," Seamus crooned from beside his own bed. This sent both him and Dean into raucous laughter. It was an even more unfortunate nickname that had come as a result of Neville's attempt to shorten his name.

Harry rolled his eyes and let Neville place a chaste kiss on his lips as he buttoned his shirt. He doubted he would ever live down the obnoxious name, but found he didn't really care. He was in too good a mood to care. Neville moved away to get his wand from under his pillow, where he had a habit of forgetting it, and paused beside Harry's nightstand.

"What's this?"

Harry looked up from buttoning his cuffs and saw his boyfriend fingering the black rose nestled amongst the purple. He shrugged.

"Dunno, found it on my table this morning. I think it's a hybrid."

"It'd have to be," Neville agreed. "Black roses don't exist naturally even in the Wizarding World. Who sent it?"

Dean appeared suddenly in the space between Harry's bed and Neville's, and Seamus clambered across Harry's mattress, disrupting the orange cat curled up at the foot. Crookshanks hissed and leapt off the bed. Seamus took no notice, and he and Dean cooed annoyingly, making Harry roll his eyes again.

"I don't know, there wasn't a note," The Wizarding Savior said, shrugging into his black school robes.

"Secret admirer?" Dean suggested, looking at the rose.

"Or a secret lover," Seamus added slyly.

Harry reached over and pushed the Scotsman off of his bed. "It's just a flower, prat."

Seamus made kissy noises as he picked himself up off the floor. "You sure?"

"Leave off," Neville said, looking self-conscious.

Harry sighed and touched his boyfriend's shoulder. "It really is just a flower, Neville. I only put it there because I didn't see the harm. It looks nice, and it probably took whoever sent it a lot of work to create. I'll put it somewhere else if it bothers you."

"I-it doesn't," Neville insisted. "It's just what Seamus said, is all. It's beautiful, next to my petunias, and you're right that it was a lot of work. Even with magic, it takes hours, and complicated potions, to grow something like this. Months, if you do it by Muggle means. It can stay, if that's where you want to keep it. Just…you really don't know who sent it?"

Harry shook his head. "No idea. But there's no magic on it, so it probably was just some secret admirer."

This wasn't exactly a lie. Harry couldn't prove his suspicions about the rose's origins, and had no idea of how it might have gotten here if he was right. They'd spent the entire morning together, and it hadn't been here when he first woke up. Neither were there any windows open for an owl to have delivered it in the short span of time they'd been apart before Harry reached his dorm. The rose was simply a mystery.

He allowed Neville a second kiss, even though this caused pretend gagging noises from their friends, and finished dressing. The rose would be joined by another and another, every morning. Soon, the vase on his table would be equally filled with purple and black. Neville never seemed to mind them, only balking nervously whenever Seamus teased Harry about his supposed secret lover. The question of their origin nagged at Harry, but this too joined many others in his 'answers will come' file at the back of his mind. He couldn't very well ask about them, because he'd only look stupid when it turned out Snape knew nothing about the flowers. Roses were a dime a dozen, and the man couldn't possibly be sending them. They probably _were_ coming from one of his many secret admirers, note or no note. And it was such a small thing.


	24. Chapter 24

Harry Potter hadn't fully comprehended the burden he'd inherited from his parents and godfather, or the cumbersome job being a 'boyfriend' could be, until one day, he did.

The green-eyed Gryffindor narrowed his eyes tiredly as he copied a sentence he didn't fully understand out of the book in front of him. He was sitting under a torch, in front of a window, in the Restricted Section, trying to find something that would help him. He was alone. Even if Neville could have been here to cling to his side, Harry doubted he would have been. They'd had their first fight, if you could call it that. Harry had snapped at his fellow Gryffindor about his constant need for attention, and Neville had walked away, pretending he wasn't crying. Harry felt no guilt, though. He'd grown tired of the fact that 'boyfriend' had somehow begun to translate as 'chief attention-giver and clinging post'. Sometimes, he just needed his space. Hell, _most_ of the time he needed his space. It was like being a couple meant he had to give up being who he was, and for someone who valued being private and solitary, that was troubling. When he'd gotten a letter from the bank that required an immediate reply and Neville had tried to pressure him into sharing it's contents, it had all become just a little too much. It wasn't even like the other boy could help, since his grandmother handled their fortune, he'd just been being nosy. Harry refused to accept that dating someone meant he had to share everything, especially his private financial business.

The owl had arrived with the morning post, and it hadn't taken much to convince McGonagall to give him permission to spend his Saturday in the furthest stacks of the Library. Pelish had sent him some papers he had to sign, some forwarded requests for charity, and several investment suggestions that would protect and strengthen his inheritance. The Goblin had said he needed a reply as soon as possible, which is what had led Harry to the Restricted Section. Pince had informed him, when he'd come to her seeking histories on the listed companies, that the financial section of her library was off limits to students without permission. Merlin knew _why_ the books had somehow fallen in with the most dangerous spells and potions you could find in the library, but they were. Harry suspected that it was because most students didn't need them, and the Faculty who did would relish the solitude of the Restricted Section. Unfortunately, after five hours of looking through company histories, he was no closer to finding the answers he needed. He barely understood the statistics about their investment histories, and there was nothing about their company _ethics_ , something he felt should inform his decision.

Harry started when a mug of coffee was placed by his elbow. He looked up, half-expecting Pince telling him he had to leave, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Snape standing above him. He took the coffee and sipped at it before turning back to his books and parchment.

"Food and drink aren't allowed in the Library," Harry pointed out as Snape sat across the table with his own coffee, sitting sideways so he was facing the stacks. He glanced up to see a smirk.

"There are exceptions for professors. If you don't want it, however…"

"I didn't say that," Harry said quickly.

"Where is your leech?"

Harry gave a breathy snort. "Pouting. We sort of had a fight. He isn't allowed back here, anyway. I only got permission because I needed it."

"Ah," Snape said.

They descended into silence as Harry resumed his work. The scratch of his quill was the only sound for an untold amount of time. Then Snape began to rhythmically stutter his fingertips upon the wooden tabletop. After several minutes of this, Harry looked up.

"Was there something you needed?"

Snape smirked as he sipped his coffee. "Not particularly."

Harry glowered. "Then could you stop that? It's distracting, and I'm nervous enough."

Snape turned his head to the side to face him. "Do I make you nervous, Mister Potter?"

Harry couldn't help a smirk of his own. "You wish. No, I've got this financial whose-it-whats-it to deal with, and I'm terrified I'm going to make a mistake and choose the wrong investments. So, if you don't mind?"

Snape shrugged and turned back to watching the empty stacks. Again, the scratching of Harry's quill was the only sound between them. After a time, Harry looked up again. He thought about asking why Snape was here, but decided against it. Chances were good that he wouldn't get any sort of answer, and that Snape would leave, taking the coffee with him.

"What do you know about these companies?" He asked finally, passing over the list that Pelish had sent.

Snape shifted in his chair and picked up the list. "Corrupt, mostly, why?"

"My estate manager wants me to choose investments for some of my money," Harry explained, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "According to what I've found, the ones I've circled will show the largest return on my investment, but I want to know about their practices. I don't want to be handing money over to some goon who steps all over his employees and pockets half of the profits. I only know for sure that I can invest in Weasley Wizard Wheezes, because I trust the proprietors and know they have a legitimate, _ethical_ business model."

"Understandable that this would concern you," Snape said, turning his chair to face the table and setting his coffee aside. "If I may?"

Harry handed over his quill. "Please," He invited. "I've done what I can, and I feel like I'm drowning in numbers."

Snape grunted noncommittally and dipped the quill into Harry's inkwell. He placed an 'x' beside some of the circled company names, and two that were unmarked. "These few meet your standards, and I can recommend a few others that, while not as profitable, are consistent. You wouldn't have to worry about the company going bankrupt and losing your investment."

Harry took the list back. "I'm open to suggestions," He admitted. "I haven't found much on most of these companies, but I've found enough that some of them worry me. This one, for instance," He pointed to a name halfway down the list. "Their profit margin the last few years has been insanely high for the amount of product they move. I'd guess that they've either raised prices or they have a crooked accountant. Neither is a sustainable business model."

"Why circle it, then?"

"Because the circle isn't a final decision," Harry said. "Like I said, I only circled the ones that had the highest profitability. I'm still reviewing the profit histories to decide where I have the best chance for return without too much risk. It would help if I knew what the hell I was looking for."

Snape hummed, shifting his chair around so that he was settled facing the Gryffindor. "If you are amenable, I might be able to offer some assistance. Over the years I have done some minor investing, as well as listened to Lucius Malfoy prattle on about it, and I can at least offer my understanding of the system."

Harry smiled gratefully. "I welcome whatever you can offer. It's certainly better than having to go to my friends, who probably know about as much as I do on the subject."

The Potions Master gave a stiff nod and launched into an explanation. Harry listened raptly, only remembering to take notes when a long finger tapped his parchment during a particularly important point. When Harry was fairly certain he knew what he was supposed to be looking for, he began asking questions that, for once, he was confident made some modicum of sense. They discussed his options until the sky began to darken, and, by the time they needed to go to dinner, Harry had a list all his own of investments he wanted to pursue. He returned to Gryffindor Tower and sent the list, which included the Apothecary and Madame Malkin's in Diagon Alley, on it's way with Hedwig.

When he joined his friends at dinner, Harry had forgotten entirely about his pseudo-fight with his boyfriend. That was, until he saw the heartbroken look on the round face as Neville picked at his food, and the disapproving glares from his friends. He mustered enough sympathy to manage a half-sincere apology, for snapping if not necessarily for what he'd said, and the other boy brightened instantly. It was a struggle, when Neville immediately kissed his cheek and grabbed his hand, not to draw away. A day spent away from the cloying behavior had made him realize just how tiresome it all was, but Harry saw no point in disabusing his boyfriend of his need for contact. It was, after all, such a small thing.

 _-Break-_

A few days later, Harry heard again from his estate manager. When he read the response to his hard work, he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or beat his head into a wall. Apparently, when Pelish had said that he needed to hear back 'as soon as possible', he had been expecting to receive a reply sometime in the week. He was very apologetic that Harry had apparently misunderstood his urgency, and promised to keep his inquiries under slightly more relaxed terms in the future unless it really was urgent.

Hermione and the others were still angry at him about his fight with Neville, who had in no way taken Harry's biting comments seriously. As a result of their 'first official fight', Longbottom had begun deepening the kisses he now instigated every moment they had alone. In view of others, he was still holding Harry's hand at every possible moment, and had begun kissing his cheek much more often. Harry tried to put a stop to both, only to discover that his boyfriend, nervous as he was, was surprisingly insistent and manipulative. In the end, he folded under pressure from his fellow Gryffindor and their friends.

Occasionally, Harry would manage an escape from the boy who was quickly integrating himself into every facet of his life. Even studying in his dorm had been interrupted, as Neville began joining him. Soon, even that lost its innocence, as Neville would at some point try to snog him. Whenever Harry tired of his clingy boyfriend, or the approving stares of his friends, he vanished from Gryffindor with the use of his father's cloak and map. There were a number of disused corridors that students passed without really seeing, and he adopted one of these as his own. Sometimes, Snape would find him here, and would listen in silence while Harry aired the woes of being a Seventh Year in a relationship. It was surprisingly hard, keeping up with the demands of a cloying boyfriend while studying to take a series of tests that would decide the rest of his life.

On top of his regular studies, Ailin Achesan had apparently taken notice of Harry since his display of magic in Hogsmeade. Almost covertly, she began assigning him research essays that varied greatly from the normal coursework. This became almost a secondary reprieve, as the papers generally landed him in the Restricted Section, where his friends and boyfriend couldn't follow. When his research left him studying for hours, and especially when he was deterred from meals by interest and fascination with his essay, Snape would join him. Mostly he offered silent support that Harry valued, reading one tome or other while the Gryffindor worked, but this was usually accompanied by a bottomless cup of coffee, and occasionally a sandwich from the kitchens. Harry, too busy to care, never questioned Snape's sudden appearance, either in the corridor or the library. If the man wanted to waste his valuable time sitting with his least liked student, who was Harry to argue? It was just one of those little nonsense things that didn't have to make sense.


	25. Chapter 25

The snitch was there, and then it was gone. It was the tenth time Harry had caught sight of it, and he glanced around wildly for the flitting golden ball. This had been the longest Quidditch game of his career. They'd 'kicked off', so to speak, in the morning, and the sun was already sinking towards the opposite horizon. Hours on his broom, snow falling around him ceaselessly, his entire body was numb and shivering. He was no longer even sure he could close his fingers around the snitch, they'd been clasped so long on his broom.

Spotting the dancing glint of light as it dove for the snowy pitch, Harry gigged his broom into his own dive. The Ravenclaw Seeker, a Sixth Year with some mild talent for the position, followed closely. It was apparently a tradition of the Seekers now to simply follow Harry around and just try to get there first when the snitch was spotted. Harry had grown bored with feigning chase to screw with the younger boy about two hours ago. It had stopped being funny when he pulled a Wronsky Feint that had almost buried the kid head first in the snow.

This was no Wronsky Feint, though, and Harry forced his stiff arm off his broom, reaching for the snitch. The closer he got, the closer he got to the ground, but he couldn't let himself worry about that now, nor whether or not the kid on his tail was talented enough to pull up in time. So intent was he on his prize, Harry never saw the Ravenclaw Beater miss-swing with his bat, knocking the Bludger too low. He pulled up just short of the ground, his fingers clasped around the thrice-damned snitch that had been so annoyingly evasive during the game. He pulled further out of the dive, rising back towards where the players had yet to notice his catch. A monstrous roar surged from the crowd, and it took a moment for him to realize that it was not congratulatory.

"Potter's going to get hit!" The announcer screamed over the crowd.

Harry looked around and saw the bludger coming straight for his head. There wasn't time to move, he knew that, but he could at least soften the blow. He turned his head as the hard ball connected with his skull and glanced off the back of his head, knocking him askew of his broom. His vision swam before going black, and he felt his tenuous grip on the only thing keeping him in the air slip. He fell unconscious even before he hit the ground with a sickening crunch that broke his arm, still grasping that stupid winged ball in his loosely curled fist.

When Harry came to, he was in the Hospital Wing, surrounded by a lot of people shouting their own versions of what had happened at the furious Infirmary matron. Someone had apparently noticed that he'd caught the snitch, because his entire team was there, as well as Neville, Hermione, and half the teachers, as well as the Headmaster. His vision cleared as he looked around the room, everyone jumping out of the way as Pomfrey moved back and forth, collecting what she needed.

Black eyes stared out of the crowd and Harry latched onto them groggily. The face was a mask of indifference, but Harry could see the concern in the onyx gaze and the hard set to the aristocratic features. Harry wanted to reassure the man somehow, but his brain was fuzzy, and he could already feel himself slipping back into the dark. He barely noticed Neville trying to get close enough to latch onto his uninjured arm. His eyelids fluttered shut just as Pomfrey decided she'd had enough and shouted for everyone to leave. He knew no more until the following morning.


	26. Chapter 26

The next day, Pomfrey released him with a veiled order to quit Quidditch before he got himself killed. Harry caught himself actually considering the command. It seemed like Quidditch only ever landed him in the hospital, and he was no longer sure that he wanted anything to do with the game. This time he'd walked away with a concussion and a broken arm, but what about next time? The legacy of a father he was no longer proud of, and the pride of a House he would soon be leaving forever, didn't seem like reason enough to bring his life to a messy end over. Accidents were commonplace in Quidditch, and his recklessness on a broom could very well bring the timeline of his life to a quick and sudden stop. It wasn't even a matter of becoming more careful, because this most recent accident had in no way been his fault. It wasn't _anyone's_ fault, it was just a fact of the game, and Harry felt real fear when he thought about that. Luckily, he had all of Christmas to come up with a decision.

The Wizarding Savior did not mention his sudden crisis of identity to his friends. He discovered, when he thought about talking to them, that some decisions you just had to make on your own. And they wouldn't say anything he hadn't thought of already.

Neville, who was quickly establishing himself as a much different person than everyone saw him as, demanded Harry quit as soon as he appeared at lunch the next day, following his hesitant release from the Infirmary. Harry, who did not pander to _anyone_ about his personal choices, flat-out refused. It wasn't Neville's decision to make, and Harry didn't care how much he cried, whined, and pleaded, he wouldn't let him make it. Hermione also aired her complaints about what she saw as a 'barbaric ego-trip', and sided with Neville. Harry spent his first day free of the Infirmary not speaking to either of them, and avoiding Dean and Seamus who wanted to relive the nightmare as if it were a brand of honor. Ginny, bless her, was blessedly silent on the matter, only commenting that she was glad he was 'okay'.

When Harry met with Snape on the steps of the castle the morning after his release, he waited with bated breath for the man to say something, either of the accident or in regards to his recovery. He knew it was coming. The tension coming off the man was palpable, and black eyes refused to meet his. They reached the tree by the lake that Harry and his friends had laid claim to over the years before that deep baritone finally broke the silence. The gilded edge of concern in his tone warmed Harry in the frigid morning air.

"I am…pleased, that you have recovered from your accident so quickly. I was concerned."

Harry, who had expected this, tried to laugh off the dagger point of fear that touched his heart as he remembered the bludger racing towards him.

"I'm flattered," He chuckled, his breath ghosting in front of him. "I've survived worse, though."

The Gryffindor started when a shockingly warm, dry hand grabbed his and pulled him to a stop. He turned in confusion as calloused fingers curled around his hand. He knew this grasp, had felt it often in his adventures. It was a grasp of reassurance, something grounded that declared everything as being right with the world. He stared up into the coal gaze.

"I am being serious," Snape said sharply, narrowing his eyes the slightest bit and furrowing his brow. "I didn't- _No one_ knew what had happened to you, when you fell to the pitch. For all anyone knew, that stray bludger had caved in your skull, or the fall had broken your neck. I am not accustomed to fearing for another's safety, and I do not appreciate that you forced me into such a role."

Harry frowned, knowing he was just short of scowling. "You're not going to tell me that you _also_ expect me to quit one of the few things I'm good at, are you?"

"I wouldn't, even if I thought it would matter," Snape answered, his tone softening. "I believe Quidditch to be a dangerous and useless pastime, but I am aware of your affinity for the game. I would never ask you to desert something which brought you real pleasure, no matter how barbaric it may seem to me."

Harry smiled appreciatively. "You do realize that you often referee that dangerous and useless pastime?"

Snape smirked. "Yes, but only in an attempt to prevent incidents like what happened. I thought my heart would freeze in my chest when you slipped from your broom. When it became clear you weren't moving, even after the Headmaster's attempts to soften your fall, I worried the very same organ might leap free of my chest, instead."

This was the closest Snape had ever come to addressing the strange shift in their dynamic from enemies to…'not'. Harry was so warmed by the sentiment that he felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He knew, objectively, that Hermione and Neville, at least, if not half of the assembled students and professors, had probably felt similarly during the game two days ago. Somehow, though, it meant more for this man, who guarded his emotions almost jealously, to say such things. He squeezed the hand still clasped in his reassuringly.

"Thank you," He murmured.

Snape looked at him sharply, as if expecting to find he was being teased. Harry let his sincerity show in the blush that refused to recede, and the shimmering light in his green eyes.

"I mean it," The Gryffindor continued. "It means a lot to me, that you care so much. And it means more that you aren't using your concern as an excuse to try and make me do something I don't want to do."

"It-it is a triviality," Snape replied softly.

It was no such thing, but Harry didn't see any sense in pointing out what they both already knew. They resumed their walk of silence. After a bit, Harry realized that their hands were still clasped. His first thought was that it felt kind of nice. Their hands fit perfectly into the contours of one another's grasp, and the touch was surprisingly warm without the dripping sweat he'd begun to associate with the contact. In the very next moment, guilt, like a sliver of ice, touched his heart, as he thought of his boyfriend lying asleep miles above them in Gryffindor Tower. As the sliver of ice nestled firmly into the rapidly beating muscle in his chest, Harry made the decision not to pull away. It wasn't as if he were cheating on his boyfriend, anyway. It was just…contact; something to ground him in the moment. A small thing, really.

 _-Break-_

The next day, when Harry joined Snape again for their morning walk, his heart fluttered in his chest. It was one of those odd occasions where he asked the Slytherin questions about his work, if only to hear him speak. When the older wizard began to wax at length about an experiment he'd been working with, Harry noticed with trepidation that they were walking closer together than they ever had, and that their hands kept brushing as a result. Did he dare?

With no real thought to the action, the next time their fingers brushed he turned his palm to curl into the slightly larger hand of his companion. Long, potion-stained fingers wrapped firmly around his own in response. Neither openly acknowledged their joined hands, and Snape's speech never faltered. It simply _was_ , and Harry ignored a brand new sliver of ice in his chest. It was, after all, such a small thing.


	27. Chapter 27

A few days before Christmas Holiday was due to begin, Harry was sneaking down from his dorm for his morning rendezvous. Even knowing it was just in his head, he could already smell the coffee that would be waiting for him with the resident Potions Master on the front steps. And this morning he could use the coffee, since he and Neville had had their second fight the night before. This one had been started by his boyfriend, who was angry that Harry had agreed to spend the day in Hogsmeade with Hermione, who he hadn't had much opportunity to spend time with since he'd begun receiving his extra workload from Achesan. Neville's argument was that Harry hadn't spent much time with _him_ , either, and he refused to listen when Harry pointed out that they studied together almost every evening in their dorm. Neville's response was that it 'wasn't the same' because they didn't _talk_. Had Harry been just a little more impulsive, he'd have mentioned the fact that Snape never complained about their companionable silence whenever he joined Harry in the Restricted Section. He had not said this, tempted as he was, and had refused to cancel his arrangement with his best friend. Hermione had solved the issue when she invited Neville to join them. Harry had not been happy about this addition which would no doubt dampen his time with his friend, but he had eventually agreed just to end the argument.

As Harry tip-toed through the Common Room, a flicker of movement by the fireplace caught his eye. He turned, certain he'd been caught sneaking out, to find his best friend curled in a chair by the dark, cold fireplace, a book slipping out of her lax hands. He smiled endearingly and walked over.

"Hermione," He whispered. The witch didn't stir, and he touched her shoulder. "Rabbit!"

The girl started slightly and opened her eyes groggily. "I'm awake," She claimed.

Harry chuckled and took the book from her hands. "Go to bed, 'Mione." He marked her page and set it on the low table beside her chair.

"Time is it?" She mumbled, yawning.

"Early. You've still got a couple hours before breakfast. Now go crawl into bed, or you and I will be spending our day 'out' as a day 'in'," Harry said, pulling her from the chair.

Hermione nodded, her head flopping on her neck loosely, and turned towards the stairs to her dorm. Harry watched her as she trudged over and maneuvered the first few steps as if she'd never been on stairs before. When she finally managed the last few steps and disappeared into her dorm room, Harry turned to leave. Snape was still waiting for him.

 _-Break-_

The morning in Hogsmeade had gone about as well as Harry had expected. Neville spent the first while they were in the village clinging to his hand and prattling on, much as he'd done on the last couple of trips. _Unexpectedly_ , Hermione had spent the morning encouraging him, asking questions about Herbology that led to endless explanations. It had left Harry feeling very much like a trapped third wheel, Neville clinging to his hand on one side and Hermione linked with his elbow on the other. By the time they paused for lunch, Harry was immensely grateful for his other friends, who joined them in the Three Broomsticks. Ginny distracted Neville easily, and Harry was finally allowed some peace as he ate without being asked his opinion or thoughts about anything.

"So, where were _you_ last night?" Lavender asked Hermione. "I noticed your bed was empty almost the whole night."

The intelligent witch blushed. "I fell asleep in the Common Room. Harry found me and sent me to bed a couple hours before breakfast." Harry froze as brown eyes turned on him. "Actually, what were _you_ doing up before the sun?"

Harry cleared his throat and pretended not to notice the sliver of guilt as he recalled warm fingers wrapped around his own, so very different from the clammy grasp that now held them. It had been almost a month since he and Snape had added this new and confusing aspect to their walks. It changed, day-to-day, which of them initiated the contact, but this morning it had been him who folded their hands together. He pointedly didn't look at his boyfriend, who was blessedly oblivious, as a blush suffused his cheeks.

"I had a nightmare," He excused lightly. It was a lie he knew all of his friends would believe. "I couldn't get back to sleep, so I decided to spend the time studying. It beat staring up at my canopy for hours."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said sympathetically. She touched the back of his unoccupied hand warmly.

The others offered their own commiseration over his continued struggle with the shadows of the war. Then Seamus drew Neville's attention to the conversation.

"Are you sure you weren't going to meet your secret lover, Har-bear?"

Harry very maturely made a face at the Scotsman.

"S'not even funny," Neville mumbled, pouting, from Harry's side.

The Wizarding Savior squeezed the slippery palm lying against his reassuringly. He ignored a second needle-point stab of guilt as it wedged into his heart. At that moment, several teachers walked into the tavern, Snape among them. Harry surreptitiously caught the black gaze before they both looked away, letting their attentions be drawn from one another. Why should he feel guilt? It wasn't as if he'd done anything _wrong_. It was just a form of comfort, a source of warmth in the frigid winter air. It was…such a small thing.

When Neville leaned over to kiss Harry's cheek before leaving with Ginny to help her find an appropriate plant for her dorm, the Wizarding Savior allowed it. After they were gone, though, Harry guiltily swiped his palm on his pants and covertly wiped the kiss from his cheek under the guise of wiping his face with his napkin. When he caught black eyes staring at him from across the crowded pub, he felt an even sharper dig to his chest that he didn't fully understand, but that he found much harder to ignore.


	28. Chapter 28

Harry was one of only a few Gryffindors remaining at the school for Christmas. Hermione's parents had written, inviting him to come to their home for the Holiday, but Harry had stoutly refused. Christmas was a time for family, and he wouldn't intrude, even if they'd written him themselves. Aside from that, he didn't have the time to go carousing in the Muggle World. Achesan had given him a complicated research assignment, and he felt himself wavering on the edge of discovering exactly the information he needed. A couple of weeks spent alone in the Restricted Section, without worrying about his other homework or setting time aside for his friends, sounded like it was exactly the answer he'd been looking for.

Thus, Harry was on the front steps seeing his best friend and boyfriend off to the carriages. He'd given Hermione a hug, declining again when she insisted Dumbledore would make an exception if he changed his mind. Ginny had hugged him as well, waxing poetic about him forcing her to spend the Holiday with her ass of a brother all on her own. Neville was the last for him to hug, and he pressed the other boy back when he tried to give him a slovenly mouth-on-mouth kiss.

"Nev, I told you, I don't like kissing in front of people," Harry growled.

"But, I'm not going to see you for two whole weeks, Harry. It's just a 'goodbye' kiss."

Harry pressed his boyfriend back again as the larger boy tried again to kiss him. "I said 'no', Neville. If you'd wanted a 'goodbye' kiss, you should have thought of that before we left the dorm." He glanced at the lines of hooked-up Thestrals as the front pair began to move. "The carriages are leaving. You should go."

Neville frowned, puffing out his lower lip in a pout, but Harry remained steadfast with a hand on his chest. Finally, the other Gryffindor gave up and raced to catch the same carriage Hermione and the others had laid claim to. As soon as the carriage began to pull out, Neville waving out the window like a lovesick schoolgirl, Harry turned and went back inside. He had an appointment in the Restricted Section.

 _-Break-_

Christmas was past and the New Year approached on the backs of snow-laden clouds that blocked out the sun almost entirely. Despite the guilt that still stabbed at him every once in a while, Harry still maintained the grasp of his and Severus' hands. In a moment of surprising whimsy, Severus had begun each morning of the holiday by offering Harry hot cocoa in place of their usual coffee. Harry had yet to discern whether or not his Slytherin companion was also indulging in the chocolatey treat.

"Are you still having nightmares?" Severus asked suddenly.

"Every night," Harry answered without hesitation. They'd long since moved past the point where he would lie about such a paltry thing.

"About me?"

This did give Harry pause. He didn't have to think about it, he knew that chapter of his nightmares had come to a close, but couldn't think when he might have mentioned them to the Potions Master.

"You told me about them over the summer. Before…" Severus trailed off.

Ah, yes, before. Before their companionship had gotten complicated, before Severus had decided one day to come back for him rather than leave him behind. Before. It seemed like such a simple concept. Harry shook his head.

"No. I stopped having them…after."

Thin lips twitched in a smirk over Harry playing with his words.

"Do you know what caused them? Why, after all this time, you would have bad dreams about my death?"

"Yes and no," Harry answered carefully. "On the surface, I have an inkling of what caused them. But, as to the reason _behind_ the dreams, I couldn't tell you."

Severus hummed thoughtfully. "If I may…I have some experience with bad dreams."

"I'm sure you do," Harry agreed sympathetically. "And I'm not about to say 'no' to some kind of an explanation."

"Tell me about the dreams, what you can remember," Severus commanded.

Harry didn't have to think very hard to draw the dreams to the fore of his mind. They still haunted him, branded forever on his psyche, if only because they were unusual, and the question of them had yet gone unanswered. He cleared his throat.

"Well, the setting differed from dream to dream, but the content was basically the same. I'd be following you, or at least, the man I thought was you. Eventually, I'd lose sight of you, and when I caught up it was to find you dead, either at the hands of Voldemort or his Death Eaters. If I tried to reach out to you, you'd vanish before I ever reached you and I'd be swallowed up by the dark. In the dreams, I never saw your face, it was always hidden from me, and if I got close enough to make you turn or lift your head, you'd disappear. It was like…I knew it was you, lying there dead, but I had to prove it to myself and couldn't," Harry explained.

Severus was silent for a moment as they walked, their clasped hands swinging lightly between them.

"Perhaps it was a latent feeling of loss?" The Potions Master suggested. "I know from watching you that you took every attack by the Dark Lord personally. My role as a spy placed me at great risk, and though we were at odds, it would be understandable if you'd feared for my safety. You may not have ever realized you held this fear until you saw me away from the school, living a normal life. The act of chasing me, but never seeing my face, might have been a part of that subconscious fear. You felt helpless, knowing you couldn't stop it if something _did_ happen to me, and your inability to verify that it was me in your dreams might have been an expression of the fear that, had something happened to me during the course of my work as a spy, you would never have known."

"That actually makes a lot of sense," Harry said, considerately. "But it doesn't explain why I was having the dreams in the first place. I only dreamt of you when I involuntarily lost sight of you at the park. Although…I guess that also fits with the subconscious fear. When I purposefully walked away, it was because I'd reassured myself that you were indeed there. But, maybe it wasn't just a reassurance that it was you, maybe what I was really looking for was reassurance that you were alive and well. If you left me behind or disappeared, I couldn't tell myself that everything would be all right until tomorrow."

Severus gave a stiff nod. "Dreaming can be hard to interpret, but that explanation is remarkably similar to what I might have offered. Dreams are an inexact science."

Harry shuddered as he was reminded of the violent scenes he'd witnessed through Voldemort's eyes. "Not all dreams," He muttered. He didn't miss it when black eyes looked over at him sympathetically.

"I apologize for mentioning it."

"No," Harry said, shrugging. "It's all right. You can't help what I saw any more than anyone else can. And…it's over now."

They were silent for a long time. Harry couldn't help thinking about his time spent in Voldemort's head. It was still horrible to think of; still felt like a black mark on his soul. These were the nightmares that invaded his sleep every night, of every death he'd witnessed. Sometimes he would even dream that it was his friends he was watching die, instead of strangers he'd never met. When Severus spoke again, Harry had to strain his ears to catch it.

"What was it like?"

The Gryffindor sighed, frowning. "It's like seeing someone being murdered on a street corner, but you're unable to do anything to stop it. You try to run to their aid, but your shoes are stuck tight. You try to cry for help, but your mouth is sown shut..."Harry muttered. "And the worst of it is, the man doing the killing is the devil, and it's _your_ job to stop him. Millions of people are counting on you to stop the Morning Star himself, even though you're just a kid with a rusty pocket knife and he's got a gun trained on the people closest to you."

Harry was surprised when he was pulled to a stop. The hand in his slithered loose of his grasp and cupped his cheek for a moment. Neither of them spoke, and then the hand left his skin to wrap around his middle and draw him into an unexpected hug. The Gryffindor stiffened for a moment before relaxing into the embrace and laying his head on a slim shoulder, his own arm slipping under the Potions Master's thick winter cloak in return. He did not feel guilt this time, because it was such a simple action of compassion. Severus still said nothing, but Harry still found it to be a more profound moment than any of his friends' commiserating apologies combined. They pulled apart together, their hands sliding into one another as if they belonged nowhere else, and resumed their walk.

After a moment, Severus spoke again. "I didn't realize you were religiously affiliated."

Harry actually felt himself chuckle. "I'm not really. My relatives…after a few years with them, you start looking for something to explain away the darkness in people's hearts. Religion gave me those answers, but not much else."

Severus grunted without comment and they finished their walk in companionable silence.


	29. Chapter 29

Not long after the students returned to Hogwarts and their classes, Harry was held after by his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He finished packing his things, waved off his friends, and retook his seat at the front of the room. Achesan leaned back against the front of her desk, watching him, as they waited for the rest of the students to leave. When the door had closed behind the last smirking Slytherin, Achesan spoke.

"I've noticed that you're reasonably advanced in my subject, Mister Potter."

Harry blushed. "Thank you, Professor."

"No thanks necessary," Achesan said, waving him off. "It's not a compliment, unless you want to take it as one, just an observation. And also why I've been assigning you extra work. Mister Potter…Harry, I'm not just a professor, I am what is known as a Defense Master. I've got a letter of commendation from the Ministry and everything. Do you know how one becomes a Master of their subject?"

Harry shook his head. He'd honestly never given it any thought, having never met another Master besides Severus.

Achesan rubbed the back of her head, mussing her long hair. "Typically, one becomes a Master by enduring an apprenticeship. This can last anywhere from a few months to a few years, dependent on your level of skill, your dedication, and the attendance of your Master to your studies. Mostly the apprenticeship is like Muggle university. You study your chosen field under the guidance of your Master, advancing and improving your skills. There's a lot of research involved, too, like the extra assignments I've been giving you. The Master you train under becomes _your_ Master, and you assist them in their field of Mastery. Sometimes you live with them, other times your Master provides you with a living. Now, Master's are hard to come by for an apprenticeship. Professor Snape, for example, is the only Master I've heard of as having studied under Master Kwan, who is a Master of Defense, Alchemy, and Potions. Do you understand so far?"

Harry nodded, mentally cataloguing this new information about his dawn companion.

"Do you know why I'm telling you all this?"

"Not really," Harry admitted a little bashfully.

Achesan sighed. "Harry, have you thought any about what you would like to do, after you've left Hogwarts?"

"No," Harry said. "I once thought of being an Auror, but I haven't got the Potions NEWT to qualify, and I no longer wish to pursue the subject, anyway. Once I'd spoken with actual Aurors and discovered what the job entails, it no longer seemed like the right fit. I haven't thought anymore about what else I could do, yet, besides teaching. I had a club in Fifth Year where I taught a bunch of other students Defense, and I really enjoyed it. I also really enjoy Defense, even the research part you've been giving me lately. I figured I'd go to my Head of House sometime this term and ask her what my options might be."

Achesan hummed noncommittally, nodding. "What would you say if I offered you a way to pursue them both, teaching and Defense?"

Harry straightened in his chair. "I'd say you'd caught my attention, Professor."

Achesan smiled. "I'd hoped you'd say that. Harry, I'm in the market for an apprentice; someone whom I can pass the knowledge I've gained over the years on to. You're the first wizard, or witch for that matter, who I've seriously considered, and I've even been testing your dedication to the craft. You have to have noticed that you never received any form of grade for your extra assignments." Harry nodded that he had. "You did the work without any sort of reward. That's an important aspect to being an apprentice, which can often be a thankless job. As _my_ apprentice, you would be able to study Defense freely, and, since I plan to remain at Hogwarts for a few more years, at least, you would also be assisting me in the classroom. Were you to agree, your apprenticeship would begin as soon as you stepped off the train at King's Cross. I would offer a fair wage, and you would accompany me on my travels to study dark wizards and creatures…and occasionally guarding the odd village from one or the other."

Harry chuckled with his professor, though he didn't doubt that it could happen.

"I want you to give this some serious thought, Harry. I don't expect an answer today, or even next week. Once you dedicate yourself to a Master, even before the actual apprenticeship begins, you're contractually obligated to see it through," Achesan finished.

The Wizarding Savior felt his thoughts spin dizzily as he considered what he was being offered. It was the chance to pursue his interests, but more than that it was a chance to do so under the guiding hand of someone who knew what they were doing. If it was anything like the work he'd been doing since that first Hogsmeade weekend, he definitely knew he wanted more. The only question was whether he could invest himself so completely. She'd already said being an apprentice was often times a thankless job. Could he dedicate himself without grades to tell him if he was doing good work?

Harry stood, shouldering his messenger bag. "Thank you, so much, Professor Achesan," He said delightedly. "It's a lot to think about, and I can guarantee that I _will_ be thinking about it. I can have an answer for you before the Leaving Feast, unless you need it sooner."

"No, I will make no such demand on you," Achesan assured him. "It's a very important decision, and you shouldn't feel rushed in making it. However, I will continue to give you some extra work. I realize you have your NEWTs to study for, so they won't be as in-depth as they have been up 'til now, but I feel it will help you make your decision. Being an apprentice is hard work, and not to be taken lightly. I feel that maintaining your grades while performing these extra tasks for me will give you an idea of the dedication it requires. For now, you may go. And feel free to ask your friends for advice."

Harry gave a stiff nod and turned towards the door. He knew, even before he reached the corridor where Hermione and Neville were waiting to escort him to lunch, that he wouldn't mention this to them just yet, if at all before he'd made the decision. It was an incredible opportunity, and he knew without asking that Hermione, at least, would pressure him to take it. He didn't want anyone biasing for or against it before he'd had his own time to mull over the pros and cons. One good that his discussion with Achesan had wrought, was that he was now no longer on the fence about Quidditch. He didn't have the time to waste chasing a golden ball on a broom if he was being groomed for an apprenticeship.

 _-Break-_

For the next few days, Harry used his morning's with Severus to subtly query what the man's own apprenticeship had entailed. The more he heard about apprenticing, the more the idea appealed to him. The way Severus spoke of his Master, Master Kwan Henley, was…inspiring. He held nothing but affection for the wizard, even when he spoke of the hardships he'd endured during his studies. It made Harry worry that he wouldn't find as much enjoyment from his time with Master Ailin Achesan. However, the enjoyment he still got from the research assignments she was giving him suggested he very well might. And it was a chance to see the world, if only on the summer.

Outside of this new undertaking of thought, Harry was catching heat from his Quidditch team over quitting less than halfway through his last season. Ginny was the only one on his side, having seen the amount of pressure he was under from his classes. He'd happily passed the Captainship on to her shoulders, and she'd taken the badge seriously. Her first act had been to replace her own brother with McClaggen, feeling none of the obligation Harry had to keep the terrible redhead on the team. Harry had caught hell from his former best friend for his own little sister's decision, but had felt none of it, too busy with the work of acing his NEWT reviews, completing the assignments Achesan gave him, and dealing with his ever-evolving relationship.

Neville, who refused to acknowledge Harry's insistence that he'd made the decision alone, took credit for his boyfriend defecting from Gryffindor's Quidditch team. Harry, after trying and failing on three different occasions to correct this false interpretation of self-importance, decided to let the larger Seventh Year take the blame if he wanted it. It got the team off his back, at the least. The downside to this new imagined image that Neville held, of being able to influence Harry's life as he saw fit, was that it led to an abrupt increase in pressuring Harry to take their relationship to the next level. He had yet to go as far as actually pushing the issue, but it was definitely mentioned less-than-subtly on several occasions.


	30. Chapter 30

As if the Gods themselves were laughing, Valentines fell again on a Saturday, as it had those few years ago when he'd worked up the courage to ask out Cho Chang. Neville insisted that they also go to Madame Puddifoot's, so Harry found himself dragged to the intimate restaurant. His boyfriend insisted on a great many things after that. He tried to insist that they share their food and drink, which Harry stoutly refused; he insisted that they hold hands across the table, which Harry allowed insofar as it didn't stop him enjoying his confetti-filled lunch; and, when the time came to leave, Neville insisted on a real kiss under the mistletoe hanging on the outside of the door. Harry found himself unable to refuse this as he was dragged into his boyfriend's arms and kissed without delay.

As per usual, when Neville's kisses got out of hand, Harry tried to push the other boy away. He was surprised to find that he could not. It seemed unlikely that Neville be stronger than him, but there was a good chance that it was the lack of appropriate leverage. It had seemed even more unlikely that Neville would force Harry to do something he knew made him uncomfortable, but that also seemed to be new news for the day. Finally, Harry managed to wiggle free from the boy's surprisingly strong grip and push away.

"What the hell, Neville?!" He demanded loudly, drawing the attention of some other students passing down the street.

Neville blushed. "It's Valentine's, Harry. It was just a kiss."

"You know how I feel about that!" Harry shouted. He knocked away the hands reaching for him.

"I-I'm s-sorry. I-I just wanted to show you how much I care about you, Harry."

Harry scowled, backing away further as Neville tried again to reach for him. "If you really wanted to show me how much you care, you'd respect my boundaries. Shit, Neville, we've been over this a dozen times!" He sidled out of reach again. "Don't. I'm going back to Hogwarts. Enjoy the rest of your Valentine's."

Without waiting for a response, the Wizarding Savior turned and stormed down the street. His boyfriend was smart enough to let him go. He made it out of the village without running into any of his friends and could see the gates of Hogwarts when he ran into the last person he wanted to see. Malfoy popped out from behind a tree like the ferret he was, stepping directly into Harry's path. The Gryffindor attempted to go around, only to have Malfoy smoothly glide in front of him again.

"What do you want?" Harry demanded angrily. "I'm not in the mood."

Malfoy scoffed. "Have a lovers spat, Potter?" He drawled tauntingly. "Half of Hogsmeade had to have heard it. Does your boyfriend know the _truth_ about why you won't kiss him?"

Harry scowled, looking away from the slate-gray eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about." He pushed past the Slytherin to continue towards Hogwarts.

"Sure you do, Potter," Malfoy said conversationally. "I mean, it's obvious to anyone who knows where to look…or _when_."

The Gryffindor felt the cold prick of guilt-laden fear. Had he been seen? It didn't even have to be before sunrise, they could've been spotted in the Restricted Section, or the corridor he'd adopted as his own. Had Malfoy been stalking one or both of them? Harry shook his head, reminding himself that they hadn't done anything, wrong or otherwise.

"What the hell are you prattling on about, Ferret?"

Malfoy shrugged beside him. "You're just leading him on. You don't actually care about Longbottom; you just let him think you do. Merlin knows why. He's not even a good snog, from what I could tell by his little display back at Madame Puddifoot's, I can't imagine he's a much better fuck."

Harry didn't know why he did it. Maybe it was because he hated hearing Malfoy tell him what he already secretly knew. He turned and grabbed the blonde by the front of his pristine robes and shoved him up against the nearest tree. The immaculate hair fell around the aristocratic face, but Malfoy didn't seem to notice as he smirked behind his white-gold locks.

"You don't know anything, Malfoy!"

"What's the matter, Potter? Upset that someone might know your dirty little secret?"

Harry drew his wand without even realizing he'd palmed it until he shoved it under the Slytherin's chin. He wasn't even sure which spell he would cast, of the many that sprung to mind. And he didn't get the chance to find out as someone new joined their private party.

"Potter!"

The Gryffindor flinched and backed away from his foe with a slight shove. He re-holstered his wand and turned defiantly to the Potions Master. Black eyes glared at him from below the furrowed brow. Harry refused to look away guiltily as Malfoy righted his robes and smoothed his hair back. Snape glanced at his precious Slytherin before returning his hard, coal gaze to Harry's defiant green.

"Malfoy, get yourself to the Infirmary."

"But, Sir, I-"

Another hard glance stopped the pureblood's protest. Harry caught the smug, self-satisfied smirk out of the corner of his eye before the blonde turned towards Hogwarts. He and Snape stood in tension-filled silence until Malfoy was well out of earshot. Harry continued to glare even when it looked like Snape might speak. It looked for a moment as if Snape might actually question Harry's actions, something he had never done, but then a group of Third Year Slytherins walked past, giving them a fairly wide berth.

"Detention, Potter, tonight, with Filch, for attacking your fellow student."

Harry glowered, wanting to argue on principle, but decided there was no point. "Fine," He spat angrily.

Without waiting for whatever reply the man may muster, he turned and started towards the school not far behind the group of Slytherins. By the time he reached the school, he'd convinced himself that he'd imagined the momentary look of concern in that black gaze. By the time he'd completed his detention with the sadistic caretaker, he was half-convinced that he'd imagined any kindness he'd ever gotten from the Head of Slytherin.


	31. Chapter 31

The following morning, Harry awoke to his alarm, which he had set almost entirely out of habit. He thought briefly of letting the Potions Master, who was no doubt already waiting on the front steps, sweat his failure to appear. But, he wouldn't do that. In part, he didn't want to give the Slytherin Head of House the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten under his skin. The rest of him simply knew he would go. Their walks in the wee hours were cathartically ritualistic, Harry's own way of staring at his nose and saying 'ohm'. And, with the rest of his life one hectic mass of 'need' (Neville, his regular homework, and now Achesan), something that was so…simple…as a companionable walk of silence was, in its own way, refreshing. And it was such a small thing.

So, with hardly a moment's hesitation, Harry got up and dressed. When he did indeed find the resident Potions Master waiting on the front steps, coffee in hand, he did not glower or snarl. He took his coffee silently and started down the steps at the man's side. He did, however, stuff his other hand resolutely in his pocket. The sky, as if mimicking his thoughts, rumbled threateningly above their heads. They reached the gates and turned back before the Slytherin spoke.

"You're angry."

Harry did not reply, and Severus did not continue beyond that. The words hung like a guillotine between them. A monstrous crash echoed above their heads just as they neared the lake, and the sky opened up. Harry glanced over as the Potions Master withdrew something from his pocket. A few whispered words later, and they were under the relative shelter of a large black umbrella. Harry let himself be led to a spot under one of the trees by the lake, lest he drown in the sudden downpour. Severus continued to hold the umbrella over their heads as they came to a stop beneath the bare branches. The rain pattered against the fabric of their shelter, rolling harmlessly off.

Harry sighed. What was he doing? Not a few months ago he'd acknowledged that exactly what had happened _would_ have happened. Severus had an image to maintain in front of his students, especially his Slytherins. And it wasn't as if he hadn't absolutely earned the detention. He'd acted impulsively, and attacked Malfoy almost entirely unprovoked. He'd acted…well, he'd acted like Ron Weasley.

With another sigh, and without looking over at Severus, Harry took his hand from his pocket and reached up. His fingers curled around the longer digits that were grasping the umbrella. He looked over to see a vaguely smug tilt to the thin lips. In a single, smooth motion, the hand under his turned to grasp his fingers and their arms fell to hang between them. The umbrella stood above their heads, magically suspended as it safeguarded them from the rain. Harry couldn't help a small chuckle as black eyes met his and the slight tilt to thin lips grew to a full-blown smirk.

"You can't reasonably take credit for the rain," He argued.

Severus did not reply, only continued to smirk as he drank his coffee.

The drenching rain eventually tapered off, allowing them to return to the school. Harry went back to his dorm with a smile of his own. He couldn't believe how childish he'd acted, and he was grateful that, without ever saying a word, Severus had made him realize it. It was difficult, this transition to adulthood. Hot-headedness had no place in the grown-up world, and Harry hardly had the time to serve detentions with so much else on his plate.

Harry reached his dorm and immediately stripped himself of his wet clothing, internally debating whether he should take a hot shower as a preemptive strike against a potential cold. He froze halfway out of his clothes as he spotted something new on his bedside table. He walked over, shirtless and barefoot, and lightly fingered the gift. It was an entire bouquet of a dozen or more black roses. After a moment of admiration, he picked up the flowers, tied together with red and gold ribbon, and dropped the black bouquet into the vase Neville had given him, shifting the petunias around so that they lined the outer rim.

So enamored with the beautiful bouquet was he, Harry almost didn't see the small package that had been lying underneath. When he spotted it, he held it up in the dim light, and a grin split across his face. The previous day he had received a veritable mountain of chocolates and cards from his many admirers. Neville had also given him a large, heart-shaped box of chocolates in apology last night. But none of these gifts held a candle to the box of black licorice wands he held in his hand on the wet, grey morning-after. Harry could count on his hand the number of people who knew he was a sucker for black licorice, and three of them were Muggles from grade school. Hermione knew, as she knew most anything, and he could recall mentioning it to Neville when they'd gone to Hogsmeade on their first date, but there was no telling how the sender could have come by the information.

Moving back to his trunk, Harry set the package atop the unopened chocolates his boyfriend had given him. He returned to small ballet of gathering his clothes and removing to the showers before the other boys in his dorm would begin to wake. After a moment's hesitation, he set his things down on his bed and split open the package. One licorice wouldn't hurt. It was, after all, such a small thing.


	32. Chapter 32

The rainy weather that followed Valentine's Day persisted through the next few weeks. There was hardly a break in the drenching rain, except to lighten for moments. Every few days, as if the sky itself was taunting the students of Hogwarts, the clouds would break, letting the sun shine through in spotted blue. It only ever lasted long enough to let the students, especially the younger Years, gather hesitantly on the grounds. And then the clouds would reform their ranks and the rain would begin anew.

This left much of Hogwarts feeling the dagger's edge of claustrophobia. Gryffindor, in particular, the undisputedly rowdiest House of the four, had taken to communing in the Common Room for rambunctious, out-of-control gatherings that fell just short of parties. After the most recent, which had almost ended with a Fourth Year catching fire thanks to a mis-thrown, contraband Fanged Frisbee, Head Girl Hermione Granger was finally forced to put her foot down. After a few days of taking points that soon began to show clearly in the hourglasses in the Great Hall, Gryffindor as a whole soon took to heart her warnings, and the rabble-rousers either settled down or escaped to Merlin-knew-where.

Harry Potter, Seventh Year Savior of the Wizarding World, barely noticed any of this, and could hardly be bothered to participate. He spent the majority of his rainy days not in class either in the Library or hidden away in his dorm. Most Seventh Years, by this point, were drowning in homework to prepare them for their NEWTs, and he was no exception. Combined with the difficult research assignments he still received almost weekly from Achesan, he hadn't the time to waste on frivolity. Had he been able to see himself now as a (mostly) carefree First Year, he would never have guessed how studious he would one day become, or how much he would enjoy the challenge.

It was on one such dark and stormy afternoon that he was studying on his bed, in his dorm, with his boyfriend sighing and groaning in boredom beside him. When the larger Seventh Year gave his third long-suffering sigh in the same ten minute span, Harry looked up at him in annoyance. He was half-finished with his Transfiguration essay, and might've been done already if Neville didn't keep interrupting with idle chatter and obnoxious sighs.

"Neville, if you're really that bored, why don't you go find Dean or Seamus, see if they want to play Exploding Snap or something?"

The other boy shook his head. "N-no, I'm fine. I like that I get this time alone with you." He smiled and put a hand on Harry's.

The Wizarding Savior rolled his eyes. "Then could you-" He was cut off by a swift, unexpected kiss. "Neville, I'm trying to do my homework."

"Take a break," Neville answered smoothly, shifting onto his knees.

With a sigh of his own, Harry allowed his boyfriend to instigate a second, more insistent kiss. He closed his book on his homework and set it aside on the bed as Neville practically crawled into his lap. The kissing had become slightly more enjoyable from that first awkward kiss in Hogsmeade, but Harry still didn't really see the point in it. He got no more than the most base burn of desire, a small flame that flickered weakly in the lowest region of his stomach.

When Neville tried to push him back against his pillows while conspicuously gliding a sweaty palm down Harry's front, the Wizarding Savior straightened and pushed the other boy away.

"No."

Neville gave what Harry thought was meant to be a sultry smirk, but came off as being a crooked grin.

"Come on, Harry, it's what they all think we're up here doing anyway," The larger boy coaxed, leaning in to resume their kiss.

Harry pushed him away again. "I don't care what _they_ think, I don't want to. If you really have feelings for me, you'll respect my decision."

Neville slumped, hurt. "Of course I have feelings for you, Harry. I love you."

The Wizarding Savior failed to hide a wince at the term, over used and underappreciated by his peers. He frowned seriously at his boyfriend. "It's too soon to know something like that. And it's still not an excuse to try and pressure me."

"So…you don't feel the same?" Neville queried in a husky voice. His hand slid over Harry's thigh in an attempt at sensuality.

Harry scowled, shoving the hand away. "Right now, all I feel is angry, going on pissed," He growled. The smaller Seventh Year slid off of his bed and began putting on his shoes. "Get Hermione to help you with your homework. Maybe you can work with _her_ without trying to feel her up against her will."

"But, Harry…I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"If you were sorry you wouldn't have kept pushing after I said 'no'," Harry interrupted sharply. "I need some time to cool off…and so do you."

Neville slumped into a deep sulk, and Harry left the dorm. He begged off when Hermione tried to stop him in the Common Room to talk about one essay or another, and was soon out in the Seventh Floor corridor. From there, he watched to be sure no one was around who might follow him before disappearing into what should have been a disused classroom. He followed the staircase the door actually hid to where it let out on the Fifth Floor, then traversed the corridors until he found the one he wanted.

It was a much disused corridor, with no classrooms, disused or otherwise, and a wall of dusty windows that looked out on the Black Lake. Halfway down the dark passage, there was a window alcove he'd cleared of dust and cobwebs. Still angry with his boyfriend, Harry sat down on the wide sill and tucked his knees against his chest as he slammed back against the stone wall. He thought briefly of slamming his head back as well, but decided Neville Longbottom was not worth a concussion.

After several minutes where his anger had yet to fade, his mind still replaying his boyfriend's pushy behavior, Harry drew his wand. One of the research papers he'd done for Achesan had been about projection spells that you could use to distract your opponent, be they creature or human. He decided now was as good a time as any to practice them. Starting with the smallest image he could think of, he conjured a gossamer, barely visible fairy that danced and flitted around in a circle on the stone in front of his feet.

"You're getting better," A dark, rumbling voice commented lightly.

Harry scowled, canceling the spell, and shoved his wand back up his sleeve. He hugged his knees as Severus moved to the other side of the alcove and sat facing him, his own knees bent. Slim, pale wrists rested laxly on black-clad knees as they simply stared at one another. Finally, Harry sighed, looking out the rain-washed window.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He saw out of the corner of his eye as obscenely long fingers rose and spread in a mockery of surrender, and black eyes turned to watch out the window as well. They sat there in silent repose, simply watching the rain as it pelted the glass and the lake beyond. After a time, Harry's anger faded under the coolly reticent intimacy of someone who actually understood his need to be alone without actually needing to be alone. When it came time for dinner, Severus still didn't speak, simply stood and held out his hand to the Seventh Year. Harry let himself be helped to his feet, and, after a moment of silent questioning and grateful reassurance passing between ebony and emerald, they parted ways down separate ends of the corridor.


	33. Chapter 33

When Easter Holiday came, Harry, along with everyone else, was given twice as much homework, reminding him of his First Year Easter week. Much like he had in First Year, he spent the majority of the holiday in the library with Hermione. They would study together until dinner, and then Harry would remove to the Restricted Section to work on his newest research assignment until curfew. This time, Achesan had assigned him to find the earliest reference to Werewolves in Wizarding or Muggle history. Before the holiday, Harry had already exhausted the histories available in the general area of the Library, and was now tracing the references back in much older tomes kept away from the majority of the student populace. It was surprisingly fascinating and difficult work.

The work, as hard as it was, was made easier by illicit cups of coffee each night, accompanied by the silent companionship of the resident Potions Master. It being a holiday, Harry's Seventh Year curfew went late into the night, and Severus would appear within an hour after dinner to sit quietly across from him. As a general rule, they passed nary a word between them, both caught up in whatever they were reading. On the fourth day of the holiday, however, Severus appeared with a bright green basket brimming over with a monstrous pile of silver-wrapped eggs. This was enough to catch Harry's attention, drawing him out of the ancient works he'd been studying.

Harry gave a small, disbelieving chuckle as the basket was set on the table between them. "What is that?"

"I believe it to be Albus' idea of generosity," Severus answered thoughtfully. "I am not un-fond of chocolate, but I can hardly be expected to eat this much. Nor am I prepared to leave it sitting in my rooms for Merlin only knows how long. I thought I might share the wealth, so to speak."

Harry chuckled again and picked up one of the eggs, slightly larger than a chicken egg. "They're all chocolate?"

"Honeydukes Finest," Severus said with a nod, pulling a book from the folds of his robes.

The Gryffindor smiled as he unwrapped the egg, setting the foil back in the basket. He bit off a chunk, only to discover that it was not simply a hollow egg like he'd gotten from Mrs. Weasley. Instead, it was the more expensive chocolate truffles that Honeydukes kept behind the counter. He hummed appreciatively and swallowed.

"You walked through the school with this on your arm, just to help satisfy my yearly chocolate fix?" Harry asked jokingly.

Severus scoffed. "I most certainly did not." He sniffed indignantly. "It was hidden under my cloak."

Harry laughed softly at this and finished off the egg he'd opened. He transfigured a spare bit of parchment into a handkerchief and wiped his hands on the parchment-colored fabric. Madame Pince would wring him ragged if he left chocolate stains of the dusty pages of the books he'd borrowed. He returned to his book, taking another egg as Severus took one of his own, and jumped in his chair when a House Elf popped suddenly into existence near the vicinity of his elbow. The elf tittered a little as it set their usual coffee mugs onto the table before disappearing again with another 'pop'. Harry glowered when Severus smirked laughingly, picking up his mug.

"S'not funny," The Gryffindor mumbled irritably.

"Jumpy, Potter?" Severus teased.

Harry's scowl deepened. "You would be, too, if you'd spent the last week or more reading about the worst sort of werewolf, and their crimes against humanity."

Severus gave a light, rumbling chuckle. "Is that what you've been working so diligently on?"

"Yes," Harry said, gesturing to the large pile of texts sitting off to the side. "Professor Achesan wants me to find the origin of the Werewolf, or at least approximate it's first reference in history from what I have available to me."

"You could inquire about it with Lupin," Severus suggested, turning to his book. "He's done extensive research on his kind."

Harry frowned, looking at the text in front of him. "I don't think I'm supposed to get help with these assignments, except what I get from Madame Pince about where to look."

Severus hummed, nibbling at the half-exposed egg in his hand. "It was merely a suggestion. Although, that doesn't seem like a homework assignment meant for a Seventh Year."

"No, it's…" Harry trailed off and glanced up at the Potions Master to see a knowing smirk stretching the thin lips. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You already know, don't you?"

"Not long after she came to you with the offer," Severus admitted unapologetically, still pretending to read. "I assumed you would tell me when you were ready, perhaps once you'd made a decision."

"Oh…" Harry said uncertainly. "So…you're not going to tell me to take her up on it?"

"I haven't yet, and will not do so now," Severus told him. "It is a difficult decision. It is not just a matter of whether or not you think yourself able to perform, which I might assure you, you would be; it is also a matter of matching apprentice to master. An apprenticeship is a life-altering experience, and not only because of what you will learn. The odds of running into danger, particularly in your chosen field of study, are phenomenal, and you have to be able to trust your Master explicitly. You don't necessarily have to be able to follow orders, although that will be expected of you in certain circumstance, but you do have to trust that your Master won't throw you to the wolves, so to speak. Their life is in your hands as much as yours is in theirs. It is also recommended that you get along with your Master. If you spend all of your time arguing, it would hardly be conducive to a good learning environment."

"I hadn't thought about that," Harry admitted softly. "I was focusing so much on the work; it never occurred to me that the fit of our personalities would matter. Thanks. You've given me a lot to think about."

Severus smirked, picking up his coffee. "It is what I live for, Mister Potter."

Harry smiled appreciatively and turned back to his study of ancient Mesopotamia, and how the Muggles there sometimes worshipped Werewolves as demi-gods.


	34. Chapter 34

At breakfast on April first, Harry's friends were quietly discussing their virginity, or lack thereof in some cases. Harry had no idea how they'd gotten onto this topic, when they'd begun by debating whether they should pull a prank in honor of Fred and George. Neville had already nervously explained that he'd lost his virginity over the summer to a nice Hufflepuff who'd graduated two years ago. Lavender had apparently had a similar experience with a Slytherin boy, also graduated a few years earlier. Harry absolutely refused to partake in the discussion, but he privately agreed with Hermione and Ginny. Why should he give up the last, precious sliver of his innocence in a rushed coupling that took place either in fear of discovery, or in an agony of embarrassed fumbling?

It did leave him to wonder, though, about his relationship. If his friends, including his boyfriend, were to be believed, it wasn't a matter of love, or even of fealty, so why couldn't he just do it? Get it over with and move on, as it were? A part, which he acknowledged to be slightly feminine in voice, knew that it was because he was "waiting". What on Earth he was waiting for, he had no idea, but he assumed he would know when he found it. The rest of him still wondered, though. Neville was a nice enough boyfriend, and he'd certainly grown attractive over the years.

At that moment, Severus Snape stalked in through the open doors of the Great Hall, silencing half of the tables. Harry's green gaze followed the tall, lithe form as the man moved between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Severus had a nice body. It was impossible to tell under the man's stifling teacher's robes, but Harry knew from the summer just what was hiding under the billowing black. The Muggle clothes he'd worn in the park had been well-tailored, conforming enough to emphasize each dip and curve without being skin tight. Harry traced those contours now with his mind's eye as he watched the man's ascent to the Head Table. Yes, Severus had a _very_ nice body.

"Harry?"

The Wizarding Savior started and turned back to his friends and boyfriend. "Sorry, I stopped listening. What are we talking about?"

Neville frowned. "What were you staring at?" He looked to the Head Table, where the Potions Master was just taking his seat amongst the other professor's.

The larger Gryffindor then ducked his head and covered his mouth to muffle a snort of laughter. This captured the attention of their other friends, who all turned as one to look up at the Head Table. Harry frowned when they all turned back trying to stifle their own laughter. He glanced around the Great Hall and realized that most of the students were trying to hide laughter with puffed cheeks and hands over mouths. He looked up at Severus again with a furrowed brow and snorted before he could stop himself.

Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin, renowned Potions Master, and former Death Eater had dyed his hair. Where his shoulder-length strands were normally a glossy, raven's-feather black, they now hosted stripes of silver and green. The sneer on his face as he surveyed the student tables said that this sudden change in look was not intentional. It also spoke volumes about what would happen to those bold students who were doing nothing to hide their laughter.

"Who could have done something like that?" Dean asked, breathlessly hiding his own laughter.

Seamus shook his head, turning blue as he tried to smother the bellowing guffaw trying to work it's way out of his throat.

Lavender tittered helplessly. "Whoever it was will be dead tomorrow."

Hermione squeaked, not even pretending to be stern for once. "I'm more curious about _how._ Teacher's rooms are off-limits, and only a potion could've done that, or he'd have changed it back by now."

Harry did his best not to scowl as his friends began debating how a student could've managed the April Fool's prank without already turning up dead. After a time, the conversation turned to what might happen, once the guilty party was caught. The Wizarding Savior couldn't help but look up at the Potions Master sympathetically. If it _was_ a potion, Severus would catch hell in his classes until he'd brewed an antidote. It was hard _not_ to feel sympathy when you knew what that kind of humiliation felt like.

 _-Break-_

The next morning, the sun rose on Harry and Severus walking across the Hogwarts landscape. Their hands were already clasped carelessly between them, and Harry was already half-finished with his coffee. He'd been up into the wee hours with the other boys in his dorm, trying to undo the prank the girls' dorm had played on them. Apparently, they thought it was hilarious to fill their room with so many fake snakes and spiders that you couldn't move. Harry suspected Hermione had been the one to find the spell that would make them impossible to banish, and he and Dean had spent hours tossing the rubber critters out the windows. Seamus, Neville, and Ron had been too scared to go anywhere near the dorm until the last of the spiders and snakes were gone. Harry had felt no compunctions about leaving snakes and a spider respectively on their beds…under the blankets. Of course, none of the boys in his dorm had been willing to admit that it was well-deserved payback for turning the stairs into a slide any time a girl got close to the top of the staircase for the majority of the day.

"You fixed your hair," Harry commented idly.

Severus grunted. "It was a simple matter of brewing the appropriate antidote. Regrettably, it took longer than I would have liked."

Harry grimaced sympathetically. "Yeah, I noticed it was still…colorful…even at dinner. I can't imagine how horrible your classes for the day went."

"I'm sure you noticed the result, though, in the House hourglasses this morning," Severus said, smirking maliciously. "And I shall have all the assistance I need over the next week to clean my entire classroom."

Harry couldn't help but snicker, thinking that all of the students who'd earned a spot in detention had more than deserved the punishment.

"Who did it?" He asked. He couldn't imagine that the man didn't know. "Hermione said it had to be a potion, but I can't really see a student sneaking into your rooms to spike your shampoo."

"A student did not," The Potions Master answered, glowering bitterly.

Harry frowned. "Then who-"

"Albus," Severus growled distastefully. "Yesterday's ill-planned incident was the first time it has left me humiliated by the students, but the Headmaster pulls a prank on each staff member every year, myself included. Albus Dumbledore draws far too much enjoyment from the thrice-damned April Fool's Day."

Harry snorted. "Dumbledore gets too much enjoyment out of _every_ holiday."

Indeed," Severus sighed. He looked at Harry with an appreciative smirk. "You are the first to agree with me on the subject. It is heartening, to know I am not alone in thinking the man…" He trailed off.

"Mad? Bonkers?" Harry supplied helpfully. "Completely and utterly off his rocker?"

Severus actually offered up a sincere half-smile, nudging Harry's shoulder lightly with his own. "All apt descriptors, to be sure."

Harry chuckled, and they turned back towards the brightening horizon together.


	35. Chapter 35

The Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests descended on the Seventh Year students of Hogwarts like a swarm of vampire bats, sucking them dry of any knowledge they had gained through the years. Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, left each exam feeling on the verge of either throwing up or laughing maniacally until he was thrown into a room with Gilderoy Lockhart. In the end, though, the trials passed and the students, in spite of their doubts, survived unscathed.

The morning of the Leaving Feast, the day before he and his fellow Seventh Years would leave Hogwarts forever as students, Harry met Severus on the steps of the castle before dawn, as he had every morning previous. He felt amazingly good about his life. He'd finally adjusted to the financial questions that tended to arise from his estate manager, he felt he'd done decently on his NEWTs, and he'd given Master Ailin his decision to accept the offered apprenticeship just the night before. So when he spent the morning talking with the Potions Master about what his life would be like after Hogwarts, he honestly felt nothing could throw his train off track. He was wrong.

As their walk came to an end at the base of the steps, Harry passed off his mug and moved to return to his dorm. He was snagged by the grip of confusion when a hand slid into his and pulled him back to stand in front of the Potions Master. Black eyes stared deeply into his emerald gaze. An elf appeared beside them, and without ever looking away Severus set their mugs on the tray. The elf disappeared as quickly as it had come, and still they stared into one another's eyes. Green shone brightly with happy confusion, and onyx eyes were murky with unknown intent.

Harry's breath hitched as a hand cupped his jaw, drawing him forward into a slow kiss. His eyes slid shut as he leaned into the press of lips. It was innocence itself, the kiss, but Harry could feel a dark stirring low in his belly. He reached up and laid his hand on the pale neck, drawing Severus closer to him. The man's other arm wrapped around his waist, drawing their bodies even closer as their lips moved together in perfect harmony.

 _This_ was cheating, without question and without hesitation; but Harry doubted he could have stopped it if he'd wanted to. It was as if they had always been building to this moment. It wasn't just the summer of rapport, or the early mornings corrupted by unseen, beautiful tension. Every moment before this, from the second their eyes had met across the Great Hall at that very first Welcoming Feast, had been leading them here. Fate was nothing, if not unkind.

Harry reminded himself to breathe when Severus pulled away.

"Please…" He murmured, not knowing what he was asking.

The Potions Master frowned, rubbing his thumb along Harry's jaw.

"I'm sorry."

The second kiss was _more_ than the first. It was more than a meeting of passions; it was a clash of lips, teeth, and tongues. This was a growling of their inner demons, scratching at their cages with an eagerness they felt only for each other. The kiss, deeper and cloying, was everything a second kiss should be. But it wasn't enough. He wanted to hear that impossible, dark chocolate voice declare absolute fealty to him with those forbidden words. There was no doubt, here and now, that they would be believed and earnestly returned.

The sultry baritone rumbled against his lips.

"Goodbye, Harry."


	36. Chapter 36

By the time Harry had gathered enough of himself to open his eyes, Severus was already vanishing through the doors into Hogwarts' Entrance Hall. By the time he convinced his legs to move, Severus had disappeared into the bowels of the school. By the time he'd worked up the courage to go after the Potions Master, Harry was already in his dorm room.

He waited, the next morning, for over an hour at the locked front doors of the castle. Severus never came. When he left with his peers on the carriages that would carry him away from Hogwarts for the last time, Severus had still not appeared. He left the school without ever seeing the dark, imposing figure that now haunted his thoughts. By the time he reached King's Cross, and began his future with Master Ailin, he'd forced himself to forget the emotions that had swarmed in his chest when their lips had met. His friends would never have guessed, from the happiness he projected over his coming, adventure-filled summer, that inside the toned chest his heart was chipping away a piece at a time. When he allowed Neville to kiss him goodbye, promising to write letters he knew he never would, the final piece of his innocence shattered. Gone were his days of child-like belief that love was good, honest, and unerring. Love was cruel; it was a hidden monster buried in the hearts of man that ate up their souls and spat out darkness. And it was, in the end, such a small thing.

 **A/N: Bwahahaha! No, but seriously, I'm sorry for this ending. Fear not, there will be a sequel shortly. No later than…two weeks, give or take a day. Promise. It's already half-finished.**

 **Update: Sequel is posted, entitled No Promises. Enjoy.**


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